THE    KENTONS 


THE    KEN TONS 


U*ox>e  I 


BY 


W.  D.  HOWELLS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THEIR  SILVER  WEDDING  JOURNEY 

"  LITERARY  FRIENDS  AND  ACQUAINTANCE  " 
"HEROINES   OF    FICTION"   ETC. 


NEW   YORK   AND   LONDON 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1902 


ti(  FFITT 


Copyright,  1902,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 
Published  April,  1902 


THE    KENTONS 


THE  Kentons  were  not  rich,  but  they  were  certain 
ly  richer  than  the  average  in  the  pleasant  county- 
town  of  the  Middle  West  where  they  had  spent 
nearly  their  whole  married  life.  As  their  cir 
cumstances  had  grown  easier,  they  had  mellowed 
more  and  more  in  the  keeping  of  their  comfortable 
home,  until  they  hated  to  leave  it  even  for  the 
short  outings,  which  their  children  made  them  take, 
to  Niagara  or  the  Upper  Lakes  in  the  hot  weather. 
They  believed  that  they  could  not  be  so  well  any 
where  as  in  the  great  square  brick  house  which 
still  kept  its  four  acres  about  it,  in  the  heart  of 
the  growing  town,  where  the  trees  they  had  plant 
ed  with  their  own  hands  topped  it  on  three  sides, 
and  a  spacious  garden  opened  southward  behind 
it  to  the  summer  wind.  Kenton  had  his  library, 
where  he  transacted  by  day  such  law  business  as 
he  had  retained  in  his  own  hands;  but  at  night 
he  liked  to  go  to  his  wife's  room  and  sit  with  her 
there.  They  left  the  parlors  and  piazzas  to  their 
girls,  where  they  could  hear  them  laughing  with 


154761 


2  THE   KENTONS 

the  young  fellows  who  came  to  make  the  morning 
calls,  long  since  disused  in  the  centres  of  fashion, 
or  the  evening  calls,  scarcely  more  authorized  by 
the  great  world.  She  sewed,  and  he  read  his  paper 
in  her  satisfactory  silence,  or  they  played  check 
ers  together.  She  did  not  like  him  to  win,  and 
when  she  found  herself  unable  to  bear  the  prospect 
of  defeat,  she  refused  to  let  him  make  the  move 
that  threatened  the  safety  of  her  men.  Sometimes 
he  laughed  at  her,  and  sometimes  he  scolded,  but 
they  were  very  good  comrades,  as  elderly  married 
people  are  apt  to  be.  They  had  long  ago  quarrelled 
out  their  serious  differences,  which  mostly  arose 
from  such  differences  of  temperament  as  had  first 
drawn  them  together;  they  criticised  each  other 
to  their  children  from  time  to  time,  but  they  atoned 
for  this  defection  by  complaining  of  the  children 
to  each  other,  and  they  united  in  giving  way  to 
them  on  all  points  concerning  their  happiness,  not 
to  say  their  pleasure. 

They  had  both  been  teachers  in  their  youth  be 
fore  he  went  into  the  war,  and  they  had  not  mar 
ried  until  he  had  settled  himself  in  the  practice 
of  the  law  after  he  left  the  army.  He  was  then  a 
man  of  thirty,  and  eight  years  older  than  she;  five 
children  were  born  to  them,  but  the  second  son  died 
when  he  was  yet  a  babe  in  his  mother's  arms,  and 
there  was  an  interval  of  six  years  between  the 
first  boy  and  the  first  girl.  Their  eldest  ^son 
was  already  married,  and  settled  next  them  in  a 
house  which  was  brick,  like  their  own,  but  not 


THE   KENTONS  3 

square,  and  had  grounds  so  much  less  ample  that 
he  got  most  of  his  vegetables  from  their  garden. 
He  had  grown  naturally  into  a  share  of  his  father's 
law  practice,  and  he  had  taken  it  all  over  when 
Kenton  was  elected  to  the  bench.  He  made  a 
show  of  giving  it  back  after  the  judge  retired,  but 
by  that  time  Kenton  was  well  on  in  the  sixties. 
The  practice  itself  had  changed,  and  had  become 
mainly  the  legal  business  of  a  large  corporation. 
In  this  form  it  was  distasteful  to  him;  he  kept 
the  affairs  of  some  of  his  old  clients  in  his  hands, 
but  he  gave  much  of  his  time,  which  he  saved  his 
self-respect  by  calling  his  leisure,  to  a  history  of 
his  regiment  in  the  war. 

In  his  later  life  he  had  reverted  to  many  of  the 
preoccupations  of  his  youth,  and  he  believed  that 
Tuskingum  enjoyed  the  best  climate,  on  the  whole, 
in  the  Union;  that  its  people  of  mingled  Virginian, 
Pennsylvanian,  and  Connecticut  origin,  with  little 
recent  admixture  of  foreign  strains,  were  of  the 
purest  American  stock,  and  spoke  the  best  English 
in  the  world;  they  enjoyed  obviously  the  greatest 
sum  of  happiness,  and  had  incontestibly  the  lowest 
death  rate  and  divorce  rate  in  the  State.  The 
growth  of  the  place  was  normal  and  healthy;  it  had 
increased  only  to  five  thousand  during  the  time 
he  had  known  it,  which  was  almost  an  ideal  figure 
for  a  county-town.  There  was  a  higher  average  of 
intelligence  than  in  any  other  place  of  its  size,  and 
a  wider  and  evener  diffusion  of  prosperity.  Its  rec 
ord  in  the  civil  war  was  less  brilliant,  perhaps,  than 


4  THE  KENTONS 

that  of  some  other  localities,  but  it  was  fully  up 
to  the  general  Ohio  level,  which  was  the  high-water 
mark  of  the  national  achievement  in  the  greatest 
war  of  the  greatest  people  under  the  sun.  It  was 
Kenton's  pride  and  glory  that  he  had  been  part  of 
the  finest  army  known  to  history.  He  believed  that 
the  men  who  made  history  ought  to  write  it,  and 
in  his  first  Commemoration  -  Day  oration  he  urged 
his  companions  in  arms  to  set  down  everything  they 
could  remember  of  their  soldiering,  and  to  save  the 
letters  they  had  written  home,  so  that  they  might 
each  contribute  to  a  collective  autobiography  of  the 
regiment.  It  was  only  in  this  way,  he  held,  that 
the  intensely  personal  character  of  the  struggle 
could  be  recorded.  He  had  felt  his  way  to  the  fact 
that  every  battle  is  essentially  episodical,  and  every 
campaign  a  sum  of  fortuities ;  and  it  was  not  strange 
that  he  should  suppose,  with  his  want  of  perspective, 
that  this  universal  fact  was  purely  national  and 
American.  His  zeal  made  him  the  repository  of  a 
vast  mass  of  material  which  he  could  not  have  re 
fused  to  keep  for  the  soldiers  who  brought  it  to  him, 
more  or  less  in  a  humorous  indulgence  of  his  whim. 
But  he  even  offered  to  receive  it,  and  in  a  commu 
nity  where  everything  took  the  complexion  of  a  joke, 
he  came  to  be  affectionately  regarded  as  a  crank 
on  that  point ;  the  shabbily  aging  veterans,  whom  he 
pursued  to  their  work-benches  and  cornfields  for  the 
documents  of  the  regimental  history,  liked  to  ask 
the  colonel  if  he  had  brought  his  gun.  They  always 
gave  him  the  title  with  which  he  had  been  brevetted 


THE   KENTONS  5 

at  the  close  of  the  war;  but  he  was  known  to  the 
younger  generation  of  his  fellow  -  citizens  as  the 
judge.  His  wife  called  him  Mr.  Kenton  in  the 
presence  of  strangers,  and  sometimes  to  himself,  but 
to  his  children  she  called  him  Poppa,  as  they  did. 

The  steady-going  eldest  son,  who  had  succeeded 
to  his  father's  affairs  without  giving  him  the  sense 
of  dispossession,  loyally  accepted  the  popular  belief 
that  he  would  never  be  the  man  his  father  was.  He 
joined  with  his  mother  in  a  respect  for  Kenton's 
theory  of  the  regimental  history  which  was  none 
the  less  sincere  because  it  was  unconsciously  a  little 
sceptical  of  the  outcome;  and  the  eldest  daughter 
was  of  their  party.  The  youngest  said  frankly  that 
she  had  no  use  for  any  history,  but  she  said  the  same 
of  nearly  everything  which  had  not  directly  or  in 
directly  to  do  with  dancing.  In  this  regulation  she 
had  use  for  parties  and  picnics,  for  buggy-rides  and 
sleigh-rides,  for  calls  from  young  men  and  visits 
to  and  from  other  girls,  for  concerts,  for  plays,  for 
circuses  and  church  sociables,  for  everything  but 
lectures;  and  she  devoted  herself  to  her  pleasures 
without  the  shadow  of  chaperonage,  which  was,  in 
deed,  a  thing  still  unheard  of  in  Tuskingum. 

In  the  expansion  which  no  one  else  ventured,  or, 
perhaps,  wished  to  set  bounds  to,  she  came  under  the 
criticism  of  her  younger  brother,  who,  upon  the  rare 
occasions  when  he  deigned  to  mingle  in  the  family 
affairs,  drew  their  mother's  notice  to  his  sister's 
excesses  in  carrying  -  on,  and  required  some  action 
that  should  keep  her  from  bringing  the  name  of 


6  THE  KENTONS 

Kenton  to  disgrace.  From  being  himself  a  boy  of 
very  slovenly  and  lawless  life  he  had  suddenly,  at 
the  age  of  fourteen,  caught  himself  up  from  the 
street,  reformed  his  dress  and  conduct,  and  con 
fined  himself  in  his  large  room  at  the  top  of  the 
house,  where,  on  the  pursuits  to  which  he  gave  his 
spare  time,  the  friends  who  frequented  his  society, 
and  the  literature  which  nourished  his  darkling 
spirit,  might  fitly  have  been  written  Mystery.  The 
sister  whom  he  reprobated  was  only  two  years  his 
elder,  but  since  that  difference  in  a  girl  accounts  for 
a  great  deal,  it  apparently  authorized  her  to  take 
him  more  lightly  than  he  was  able  to  take  himself. 
She  said  that  he  was  in  love,  and  she  achieved  an 
importance  with  him  through  his  speechless  rage 
and  scorn  which  none  of  the  rest  of  his  family 
enjoyed.  With  his  father  and  mother  he  had  a 
bearing  of  repressed  superiority  which  a  strenuous 
conscience  kept  from  unmasking  itself  in  open  con 
tempt  when  they  failed  to  make  his  sister  promise 
to  behave  herself.  Sometimes  he  had  lapses  from 
his  dignified  gloom  with  his  mother,  when,  for  no 
reason  that  could  be  given,  he  fell  from  his  habitual 
majesty  to  the  tender  dependence  of  a  little  boy, 
just  as  his  voice  broke  from  its  nascent  bass  to  its 
earlier  treble  at  moments  when  he  least  expected 
or  wished  such  a  thing  to  happen.  His  stately  but 
vague  ideal  of  himself  was  supported  by  a  stature 
beyond  his  years,  but  this  rendered  it  the  ,  more 
difficult  for  him  to  bear  the  humiliation  of  his  sud 
den  collapses,  and  made  him  at  other  times  the 


THE   KENTONS  7 

easier  prey  of  Lottie's  ridicule.  He  got  on  best, 
or  at  least  most  evenly,  with  his  eldest  sister.  She 
took  him  seriously,  perhaps  because  she  took  all  life 
so;  and  she  was  able  to  interpret  him  to  his  father 
when  his  intolerable  dignity  forbade  a  common 
understanding  between  them.  When  he  got  so  far 
beyond  his  depth  that  he  did  not  know  what  he 
meant  himself,  as  sometimes  happened,  she  gently 
found  him  a  safe  footing  nearer  shore. 

Kenton's  theory  was  that  he  did  not  distinguish 
among  his  children.  He  said  that  he  did  not  sup 
pose  they  were  the  best  children  in  the  world,  but 
they  suited  him ;  and  he  would  not  have  known  how 
to  change  them  for  the  better.  He  saw  no  harm  in 
the  behavior  of  ^Lottie  when  it  most  shocked  her 
brother;  he  liked  her  to  have  a  good  time;  but  it 
flattered  his  nerves  to  have  Ellen  about  him.  Lot 
tie  was  a  great  deal  more  accomplished,  he  allowed 
that;  she  could  play  and  sing,  and  she  had  social 
gifts  far  beyond  her  sister;  but  he  easily  proved 
to  his  wife  that  Nelly  knew  ten  times  as  much. 
Nelly  read  a  great  deal;  she  kept  up  with  all  the 
magazines,  and  knew  all  the  books  in  his  library. 
He  believed  that  she  was  a  fine  German  scholar,  and 
in  fact  she  had  taken  up  that  language  after  leaving 
school,  when,  if  she  had  been  better  advised  than 
she  could  have  been  in  Tuskingum,  she  would  have 
kept  on  with  her  French.  She  started  the  first 
book  club  in  the  place;  and  she  helped  her  father 
do  the  intellectual  honors  of  the  house  to  the  East 
ern  lecturers,  who  always  stayed  with  the  judge 


8  THE   KENTONS 

when  they  came  to  Tuskingum.  She  was  faithfully 
present  at  the  moments,  which  her  sister  shunned 
in  derision,  when  her  father  explained  to  them  re 
spectively  his  theory  of  regimental  history,  and 
would  just,  as  he  said,  show  them  a  few  of  the  docu 
ments  he  had  collected.  He  made  Ellen  show  them; 
she  knew  where  to  put  her  hand  on  the  most  charac 
teristic  and  illustrative;  and  Lottie  offered  to  bet 
what  any  one  dared  that  Ellen  would  marry  some 
of  those  lecturers  yet;  she  was  literary  enough. 

She  boasted  that  she  was  not  literary  herself,  and 
had  no  use  for  any  one  who  was;  and  it  could  not 
have  been  her  culture  that  drew  the  most  culti 
vated  young  man  in  Tuskingum  to  her.  Ellen  was 
really  more  beautiful;  Lottie  was  merely  very  pret 
ty;  but  she  had  charm  for  them,  and  Ellen,  who  had 
their  honor  and  friendship,  had  no  charm  for  them. 
No  one  seemed  drawn  to  her  as  they  were  drawn 
to  her  sister  till  a  man  came  who  was  not  one  of 
the  most  cultivated  in  Tuskingum;  and  then  it  was 
doubtful  whether  she  was  not  first  drawn  to  him. 
She  was  too  transparent  to  hide  her  feeling  from 
her  father  and  mother,  who  saw  with  even  more 
grief  than  shame  that  she  could  not  hide  it  from 
the  man  himself,  whom  they  thought  so  unworthy 
of  it. 

He  had  suddenly  arrived  in  Tuskingum  from  one 
of  the  villages  of  the  county,  where  he  had  been 
teaching  school,  and  had  found  something  to  do 
as  reporter  on  the  Tuskingum  Intelligencer,  which 
he  was  instinctively  characterizing  with  the  spirit 


THE   KENTONS  9 

of  the  new  journalism,  and  was  pushing  as  hardily 
forward  on  the  lines  of  personality  as  if  he  had 
dropped  down  to  it  from  the  height  of  a  New  York 
or  Chicago  Sunday  edition.  The  judge  said,  with 
something  less  than  his  habitual  honesty,  that  he  did 
not  mind  his  being  a  reporter,  but  he  minded  his 
being  light  and  shallow;  he  minded  his  being  flippant 
and  mocking;  he  minded  his  bringing  his  cigarettes 
and  banjo  into  the  house  at  his  second  visit.  He 
did  not  mind  his  push;  the  fellow  had  his  way 
to  make  and  he  had  to  push;  but  he  did  mind  his 
being  all  push;  and  his  having  come  out  of  the 
country  with  as  little  simplicity  as  if  he  had  passed 
his  whole  life  in  the  city.  He  had  no  modesty  and 
he  had  no  reverence;  he  had  no  reverence  for  Ellen 
herself,  and  the  poor  girl  seemed  to  like  him  for 
that.  ' 

He  was  all  the  more  offensive  to  the  judge  be 
cause  he  was  himself  to  blame  for  their  acquaint 
ance,  which  began  when  one  day  the  fellow  had 
called  after  him  in  the  street,  and  then  followed 
down  the  shady  sidewalk  beside  him  to  his  house, 
wanting  to  know  what  this  was  he  had  heard  about 
his  history,  and  pleading  for  more  light  upon  his 
plan  in  it.  At  the  gate  he  made  a  flourish  of 
opening  and  shutting  it  for  the  judge,  and  walking 
up  the  path  to  his  door  he  kept  his  hand  on  the 
judge's  shoulder  most  offensively;  but  in  spite  of 
this  Kenton  had  the  weakness  to  ask  him  in,  and 
to  call  Ellen  to  get  him  the  most  illustrative  docu 
ments  of  the  history. 


10  THE  KENTONS 

The  interview  that  resulted  in  the  Intelligencer 
was  the  least  evil  that  came  of  this  error.  Kenton 
was  amazed,  and  then  consoled,  and  then  afflicted 
that  Ellen  was  not  disgusted  with  it ;  and  in  his  con 
ferences  with  his  wife  he  fumed  and  fretted  at  his 
own  culpable  folly,  and  tried  to  get  back  of  the 
time  he  had  committed  it,  in  that  illusion  which 
people  have  with  trouble  that  it  could  somehow  be 
got  rid  of  if  it  could  fairly  be  got  back  of;  till 
the  time  came  when  his  wife  could  no  longer  share 
his  unrest  in  this  futile  endeavor. 

She  said,  one  night  when  they  had  talked  late 
and  long,  "  That  can't  be  helped  now ;  and  the  ques 
tion  is  what  are  we  going  to  do  to  stop  it." 

The  judge  evaded  the  point  in  saying,  "  The  devil 
of  it  is  that  all  the  nice  fellows  are  afraid  of  her; 
they  respect  her  too  much,  and  the  very  thing  which 
ought  to  disgust  her  with  this  chap  is  what  gives 
him  his  power  over  her.  I  don't  know  what  we 
are  going  to  do,  but  we  must  break  it  off,  some 
how." 

"We  might  take  her  with  us  somewhere,"  Mrs. 
Kenton  suggested. 

"  Run  away  from  the  fellow  ?  I  think  I  see  my 
self !  No,  we  have  got  to  stay  and  face  the  thing 
right  here.  But  I  won't  have  him  about  the  house 
any  more,  understand  that.  He's  not  to  be  let  in, 
and  Ellen  mustn't  see  him;  you  tell  her  I  said 
so.  Or,  no!  I  will  speak  to  her  myself."  His  wife 
said  that  he  was  welcome  to  do  that;  but  he  did 
not  quite  do  it.  He  certainly  spoke  to  his  daughter 


THE  KENTONS  11 

about  her  lover,  and  he  satisfied  himself  that  there 
was  yet  nothing  explicit  between  them.  But  she 
was  so  much  less  frank  and  open  with  him  than  she 
had  always  been  before  that  he  was  wounded  as  well 
as  baffled  by  her  reserve.  He  could  not  get  her  to 
own  that  she  really  cared  for  the  fellow;  but  man 
as  he  was,  and  old  man  as  he  was,  he  could  not  help 
perceiving  that  she  lived  in  a  fond  dream  of  him. 

He  went  from  her  to  her  mother.  "If  he  was 
only  one-half  the  man  she  thinks  he  is!" — he  ended 
his  report  in  a  hopeless  sigh. 

"  You  want  to  give  in  to  her !"  his  wife  pitilessly 
interpreted.  "  Well,  perhaps  that  would  be  the 
best  thing,  after  all." 

"No,  no,  it  wouldn't,  Sarah;  it  would  be  the 
easiest  for  both  of  us,  I  admit,  but  it  would  be  the 
worst  thing  for  her.  We've  got  to  let  it  run  along 
for  a  while  yet.  If  we  give  him  rope  enough  he 
may  hang  himself;  there's  that  chance.  We  can't 
go  away,  and  we  can't  shut  her  up,  and  we  can't 
turn  him  out  of  the  house.  We  must  trust  her  to 
find  him  out  for  herself." 

"  She'll  never  do  that,"  said  the  mother.  "  Lot 
tie  says  Ellen  thinks  he's  just  perfect.  He  cheers 
her  up,  and  takes  her  out  of  herself.  We've  always 
acted  with  her  as  if  we  thought  she  was  different 
from  other  girls,  and  he  behaves  to  her  as  if  she  was 
just  like  all  of  them,  just  as  silly,  and  just  as  weak, 
and  it  pleases  her,  and  flatters  her ;  she  likes  it." 

"  Oh,  Lord !"  groaned  the  father.  "  I  suppose  she 
does." 


12  THE  KENTONS 

This  was  bad  enough ;  it  was  a  blow  to  his  pride  in 
Ellen;  but  there  was  something  that  hurt  him  still 
worse.  When  the  fellow  had  made  sure  of  her,  he 
apparently  felt  himself  so  safe  in  her  fondness  that 
he  did  not  urge  his  suit  with  her.  His  content  with 
her  tacit  acceptance  gave  the  bitterness  of  shame  to 
the  promise  Kenton  and  his  wife  had  made  each 
other  never  to  cross  any  of  their  children  in  love. 
They  were  ready  now  to  keep  that  promise  for  Ellen, 
if  he  asked  it  of  them,  rather  than  answer  for  her 
lifelong  disappointment,  if  they  denied  him.  But, 
whatever  he  meant  finally  to  do,  he  did  not  ask  it ;  he 
used  his  footing  in  their  house  chiefly  as  a  basis  for 
flirtations  beyond  it.  He  began  to  share  his  devotions 
to  Ellen  with  her  girl  friends,  and  not  with  her  girl 
friends  alone.  It  did  not  come  to  scandal,  but  it 
certainly  came  to  gossip  about  him  and  a  silly  young 
wife;  and  Kenton  heard  of  it  with  a  torment  of 
doubt  whether  Ellen  knew  of  it,  and  what  she  would 
do;  he  would  wait  for  her  to  do  herself  whatever 
was  to  be  done.  He  was  never  certain  how  much  she 
had  heard  of  the  gossip  when  she  came  to  her  mother, 
and  said  with  the  gentle  eagerness  she  had,  "  Didn't 
poppa  talk  once  of  going  South  this  winter  ?" 

"He  talked  of  going  to  New  York,"  the  mother 
answered,  with  a  throb  of  hope. 

"Well,"  the  girl  returned,  patiently,  and  Mrs. 
Kenton  read  in  her  passivity  an  eagerness  to  be  gone 
from  sorrow  that  she  would  not  suffer  to  be  seen, 
and  interpreted  her  to  her  father  in  such  wise  that 
he  could  not  hesitate. 


n 


If  such  a  thing  could  be  mercifully  ordered,  the 
order  of  this  event  had  certainly  been  merciful;  but 
it  was  a  cruel  wrench  that  tore  Kenton  from  the 
home  where  he  had  struck  such  deep  root.  When  he 
actually  came  to  leave  the  place  his  going  had  a 
ghastly  unreality,  which  was  heightened  by  his  sense 
of  the  common  reluctance.  No  one  wanted  to 
go,  so  far  as  he  could  make  out,  not  even  Ellen 
herself,  when  he  tried  to  make  her  say  she  wished 
it.  Lottie  was  in  open  revolt,  and  animated  her 
young  men  to  a  share  in  the  insurrection.  Her  old 
er  brother  was  kindly  and  helpfully  acquiescent, 
but  he  was  so  far  from  advising  the  move  that 
Kenton  had  regularly  to  convince  himself  that 
Richard  approved  it,  by  making  him  say  that  it 
was  only  for  the  winter  and  that  it  was  the  best 
way  of  helping  Ellen  get  rid  of  that  fellow.  All 
this  did  not  enable  Kenton  to  meet  the  problems 
of  his  younger  son,  who  required  him  to  tell  what 
he  was  to  do  with  his  dog  and  his  pigeons,  and 
to  declare  at  once  how  he  was  to  dispose  of  the 
cocoons  he  had  amassed  so  as  not  to  endanger 
the  future  of  the  moths  and  butterflies  involved 
in  them.  The  boy  was  so  fertile  in  difficulties,  and 
13 


14  THE  KENTONS 

so  importunate  for  their  solution,  that  he  had  to 
be  crushed  into  silence  by  his  father,  who  ached 
in  a  helpless  sympathy  with  his  reluctance. 

Kenton  came  heavily  upon  the  courage  of  his 
wife,  who  was  urging  forward  their  departure  with 
so  much  energy  that  he  obscurely  accused  her  of 
being  the  cause  of  it,  and  could  only  be  convinced 
of  her  innocence  when  she  offered  to  give  the 
whole  thing  up  if  he  said  so.  When  he  would  not 
say  so,  she  carried  the  affair  through  to  the  bitter 
end,  and  she  did  not  spare  him  some  pangs  which 
she  perhaps  need  not  have  shared  with  him.  But 
people  are  seldom  man  and  wife  for  half  their  lives 
without  wishing  to  impart  their  sufferings  as  well 
as  their  pleasures  to  each  other;  and  Mrs.  Kenton, 
if  she  was  no  worse,  was  no  better  than  other  wives 
in  pressing  to  her  husband's  lips  the  cup  that  was 
not  altogether  sweet  to  her  own.  She  went  about 
the  house  the  night  before  closing  it,  to  see  that 
everything  was  in  a  state  to  be  left,  and  then 
she  came  to  Kenton  in  his  library,  where  he  had 
been  burning  some  papers  and  getting  others  ready 
to  give  in  charge  to  his  son,  and  sat  down  by  his 
cold  hearth  with  him,  and  wrung  his  soul  with  the 
tale  of  the  last  things  she  had  been  doing.  When 
she  had  made  him  bear  it  all,  she  began  to  turn 
the  bright  side  of  the  affair  to  him.  She  praised 
the  sense  and  strength  of  Ellen,  in  the  course  the 
girl  had  taken  with  herself,  and  asked  him  if  he 
really  thought  they  could  have  done  less  for  her 
than  they  were  doing.  She  reminded  him  that  they 


THE  KENTONS  15 

were  not  running  away  from  the  fellow,  as  $he 
had  once  thought  they  must,  but  Ellen  was''  re 
nouncing  him,  and  putting  him  out  of  her  sight 
till  she  could  put  him  out  of  her  mind.  She  did  not 
pretend  that  the  girl  had  done  this  yet;  but  it  was 
everything  that  she  wished  to  do  it,  and  saw  that 
it  was  best.  Then  she  kissed  him  on  his  gray  head, 
and  left  him  alone  to  the  first  ecstasy  of  his  home 
sickness. 

It  was  better  when  they  once  got  to  New  York, 
and  were  settled  in  an  apartment  of  an  old-fashioned 
down-town  hotel.  They  thought  themselves  very 
cramped  in  it,  and  they  were  but  little  easier  when 
they  found  that  the  apartments  over  and  under 
them  were  apparently  thought  spacious  for  families 
of  twice  their  numbers.  It  was  the  very  quietest 
place  in  the  whole  city,  but  Kenton  was  used  to  the 
stillness  of  Tuskingum,  where,  since  people  no  long 
er  kept  hens,  the  nights  were  stiller  than  in  the 
country  itself;  and  for  a  week  he  slept  badly. 
Otherwise,  as  soon  as  they  got  used  to  living  in 
six  rooms  instead  of  seventeen,  they  were  really 
very  comfortable. 

He  could  see  that  his  wife  was  glad  of  the  re 
lease  from  housekeeping,  and  she  was  growing  gayer 
and  seemed  to  be  growing  younger  in  the  inspira 
tion  of  the  great,  good-natured  town.  They  had  first 
come  to  New  York  on  their  wedding  journey,  but 
since  that  visit  she  had  always  let  him  go  alone  on 
his  business  errands  to  the  East;  these  had  grown 
less  and  less  frequent,  and  he  had  not  seen  New 


16  THE  KENTONS 

York  for  ten  or  twelve  years.  He  could  have  waited 
as  much  longer,  but  he  liked  her  pleasure  in  the 
place,  and  with  the  homesickness  always  lurking 
at  his  heart  he  went  about  with  her  to  the  amuse 
ments  which  she  frequented,  as  she  said,  to  help 
Ellen  take  her  mind  off  herself.  At  the  play  and 
the  opera  he  sat  thinking  of  the  silent,  lonely  house 
at  Tuskingum,  dark  among  its  leafless  maples,  and 
the  life  that  was  no  more  in  it  than  if  they  had 
all  died  out  of  it;  and  he  could  not  keep  down  a 
certain  resentment,  senseless  and  cruel,  as  if  the 
poor  girl  were  somehow  to  blame  for  their  exile. 
When  he  betrayed  this  feeling  to  his  wife,  as  he 
sometimes  must,  she  scolded  him  for  it,  and  then 
offered,  if  he  really  thought  anything  like  that,  to 
go  back  to  Tuskingum  at  once;  and  it  ended  in  his 
having  to  own  himself  wrong,  and  humbly  promise 
that  he  never  would  let  the  child  dream  how  he 
felt,  unless  he  really  wished  to  kill  her.  He  was 
obliged  to  carry  his  self -punishment  so  far  as  to  take 
Lottie  very  sharply  to  task  when  she  broke  out  in 
hot  rebellion,  and  declared  that  it  was  all  Ellen's 
fault;  she  was  not  afraid  of  killing  her  sister;  and 
though  she  did  not  say  it  to  her,  she  said  it  of  her, 
that  anybody  else  could  have  got  rid  of  that  fellow 
without  turning  the  whole  family  out  of  house 
and  home. 

Lottie,  in  fact,  was  not  having  a  bit  good  time  in 
New  York,  which  she  did  not  find  equal  in  any  way 
to  Tuskingum  for  fun.  She  hated  the  dull  pro 
priety  of  the  hotel,  where  nobody  got  acquainted, 


THE  KENTONS  17 

and  every  one  was  as  afraid  as  death  of  every 
one  else;  and  in  her  desolation  she  was  thrown 
back  upon  the  society  of  her  brother  Boyne.  They 
became  friends  in  their  common  dislike  of  New 
York;  and  pending  some  chance  of  bringing  each 
other  under  condemnation  they  lamented  their  ban 
ishment  from  Tuskingum  together.  But  even  Boyne 
contrived  to  make  the  heavy  time  pass  more  lightly 
than  she  in  the  lessons  he  had  with  a  tutor,  and  the 
studies  of  the  city  which  he  carried  on.  When 
the  skating  was  not  good  in  Central  Park  he  spent 
most  of  his  afternoons  and  evenings  at  the  vaude 
ville  theatres.  None  of  the  dime  museums  escaped 
his  research,  and  he  conversed  with  freaks  and  mon 
sters  of  all  sorts  upon  terms  of  friendly  confidence. 
He  reported  their  different  theories  of  themselves 
to  his  family  with  the  same  simple-hearted  interest 
that  he  criticised  the  song  and  dance  artists  of  the 
vaudeville  theatres.  He  became  an  innocent  but 
by  no  means  uncritical  connoisseur  of  their  attrac 
tions,  and  he  surprised  with  the  constancy  and 
variety  of  his  experience  in  them  a  gentleman  who 
sat  next  him  one  night.  Boyne  thought  him  a  per 
son  of  cultivation,  and  consulted  him  upon  the 
opinion  he  had  formed  that  there  was  not  so  much 
harm  in  such  places  as  people  said.  The  gentleman 
distinguished  in  saying  that  he  thought  you  would 
not  find  more  harm  in  them,  if  you  did  not  bring 
it  with  you,  than  you  would  in  the  legitimate  thea 
tres;  and  in  the  hope  of  further  wisdom  from  him, 
Boyne  followed  him  out  of  the  theatre  and  helped 


18  THE   KENTONS 

him  on  with  his  overcoat.  The  gentleman  walked 
home  to  his  hotel  with  him,  and  professed  a  pleasure 
in  his  acquaintance  which  he  said  he  trusted  they 
might  sometime  renew. 

All  at  once  the  Kentons  began  to  be  acquainted 
in  the  hotel,  as  often  happens  with  people  after 
they  have  long  ridden  up  and  down  in  the  elevator 
together  in  bonds  of  apparently  perpetual  strange 
ness.  From  one  friendly  family  their  acquaintance 
spread  to  others  until  they  were,  almost  without 
knowing  it,  suddenly  and  simultaneously  on  smil 
ing  and  then  on  speaking  terms  with  the  people  of 
every  permanent  table  in  the  dining-room.  Lottie 
and  Boyne  burst  the  chains  of  the  unnatural  kind 
ness  which  bound  them,  and  resumed  their  old 
relations  of  reciprocal  censure.  He  found  a  fellow 
of  his  own  age  in  the  apartment  below,  who  had 
the  same  country  traditions  and  was  engaged  in 
a  like  inspection  of  the  city;  and  she  discovered 
two  girls  on  another  floor,  who  said  they  received 
on  Saturdays  and  wanted  her  to  receive  with  them. 
They  made  a  tea  for  her,  and  asked  some  real  New- 
Yorkers;  and  such  a  round  of  pleasant  little  events 
began  for  her  that  Boyne  was  forced  to  call  his 
mother's  attention  to  the  way  Charlotte  was  going 
on  with  the  young  men  whom  she  met  and  frankly 
asked  to  call  upon  her  without  knowing  anything 
about  them;  you  could  not  do  that  in  New  York, 
he  said. 

But  by  this  time  New  York  had  gone  to  Mrs. 
Kenton's  head,  too,  and  she  was  less  fitted  to  deal 


THE   KENTONS  19 

with  Lottie  than  at  home.  Whether  she  had  suc 
ceeded  or  not  in  helping  Ellen  take  her  mind  off 
herself,  she  had  certainly  freed  her  own  from  in 
trospection  in  a  dream  of  things  which  had  seemed 
impossible  before.  She  was  in  that  moment  of  a 
woman's  life  which  has  a  certain  pathos  for  the 
intelligent  witness,  when,  having  reared  her  chil 
dren  and  outgrown  the  more  incessant  cares  of  her 
motherhood,  she  sometimes  reverts  to  her  girlish  im 
pulses  and  ideals,  and  confronts  the  remaining  op 
portunities  of  life  with  a  joyful  hope  unknown 
to  our  heavier  and  sullener  sex  in  its  later  years. 
It  is  this  peculiar  power  of  rejuvenescence  which 
perhaps  makes  so  many  women  outlive  their  hus 
bands,  who  at  the  same  age  regard  this  world  as  an 
accomplished  fact.  Mrs.  Kenton  had  kept  up  their 
reading  long  after  Kenton  found  himself  too  busy 
or  too  tired  for  it ;  and  when  he  came  from  his  office 
at  night  and  fell  asleep  over  the  book  she  wished 
him  to  hear,  she  continued  it  herself,  and  told  him 
about  it.  When  Ellen  began  to  show  the  same  taste, 
they  read  together,  and  the  mother  was  not  jealous 
when  the  father  betrayed  that  he  was  much  prouder 
of  his  daughter's  culture  than  his  wife's.  She  had 
her  own  misgivings  that  she  was  not  so  modern  as 
Ellen,  and  she  accepted  her  judgment  in  the  case 
of  some  authors  whom  she  did  not  like  so  well. 

She  now  went  about  not  only  to  all  the  places 
where  she  could  make  Ellen's  amusement  serve  as 
an  excuse,  but  to  others  when  she  could  not  coax 
or  compel  the  melancholy  girl.  She  was  as  constant 


20  THE  KENTONS 

at  matinees  of  one  kind  as  Boyne  at  another  sort; 
she  went  to  the  exhibitions  of  pictures,  and  got  her 
self  up  in  schools  of  painting;  she  frequented  gal 
leries,  public  and  private,  and  got  asked  to  studio 
teas ;  she  went  to  meetings  and  conferences  of  aesthet 
ic  interest,  and  she  paid  an  easy  way  to  parlor 
lectures  expressive  of  the  vague  but  profound  fer 
ment  in  women's  souls;  from  these  her  presence 
in  intellectual  clubs  was  a  simple  and  natural  tran< 
sition.  She  met  and  talked  with  interesting  people, 
and  now  and  then  she  got  introduced  to  literary 
people.  Once,  in  a  book-store,  she  stood  next  to 
a  gentleman  leaning  over  the  same  counter,  whom 
a  salesman  addressed  by  the  name  of  a  popular  au 
thor,  and  she  remained  staring  at  him  breathless 
till  he  left  the  place.  When  she  bragged  of  the  pro 
digious  experience  at  home,  her  husband  defied  her 
to  say  how  it  differed  from  meeting  the  lecturers 
who  had  been  their  guests  in  Tuskingum,  and  she 
answered  that  none  of  them  compared  with  this 
author;  and,  besides,  a  lion  in  his  own  haunts  was 
very  different  from  a  lion  going  round  the  country 
on  exhibition.  Kenton  thought  that  was  pretty 
good,  and  owned  that  she  had  got  him  there. 

He  laughed  at  her,  to  the  children,  but  all  the 
same  she  believed  that  she  was  living  in  an  atmos 
phere  of  culture,  and  with  every  breath  she  was 
sensible  of  an  intellectual  expansion.  She  found 
herself  in  the  enjoyment  of  so  wide  and  varied  a 
sympathy  with  interests  hitherto  strange  to  her 
experience  that  she  could  not  easily  make  people 


THE  KENTONS  21 

believe  she  had  never  been  to  Europe.  Nearly 
every  one  she  met  had  been  several  times,  and  took 
it  for  granted  that  she  knew  the  Continent  as  well 
as  they  themselves. 

She  denied  it  with  increasing  shame;  she  tried 
to  make  Kenton  understand  how  she  felt,  and  she 
might  have  gone  further  if  she  had  not  seen  how 
homesick  he  was  for  Tuskingum.  She  did  her  best 
to  coax  him  and  scold  him  into  a  share  of  the  pleas 
ure  they  were  all  beginning  to  have  in  New 
York.  She  made  him  own  that  Ellen  herself 
was  beginning  to  be  gayer;  she  convinced  him 
that  his  business  was  not  suffering  in  his  ab 
sence  and  that  he  was  the  better  from  the  com 
plete  rest  he  was  having.  She  defied  him  to 
say,  then,  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and  she 
bitterly  reproached  herself,  in  the  event,  for  not 
having  known  that  it  was  not  homesickness  alone 
that  was  the  trouble.  When  he  was  not  going 
about  with  her,  or  doing  something  to  amuse  the 
children,  he  went  upon  long,  lonely  walks,  and  came 
home  silent  and  fagged.  He  had  given  up  smoking, 
and  he  did  not  care  to  sit  about  in  the  office  of  the 
hotel  where  other  old  fellows  passed  the  time  over 
their  papers  and  cigars,  in  the  heat  of  the  glowing 
grates.  They  looked  too  much  like  himself,  with 
their  air  of  unrecognized  consequence,  and  of  per 
sonal  loss  in  an  alien  environment.  He  knew  from 
their  dress  and  bearing  that  they  were  country 
people,  and  it  wounded  him  in  a  tender  place  to 
realize  that  they  had  each  left  behind  him  in  his 


22  THE  KEXTOXS 

own  town  an  authority  and  a  respect  which  they 
could  not  enjoy  in  New  York.  Nobody  called  them 
judge,  or  general,  or  doctor,  or  squire;  nobody  cared 
who  they  were,  or  what  they  thought;  Kenton  did 
not  care  himself;  but  when  he  missed  one  of  them 
he  envied  him,  for  then  he  knew  that  he  had  gone 
back  to  the  soft,  warm  keeping  of  his  own  neighbor 
hood,  and  resumed  the  intelligent  regard  of  a  com 
munity  he  had  grown  up  with.  There  were  men 
in  New  York  whom  Kenton  had  met  in  former 
years,  and  whom  he  had  sometimes  fancied  looking 
up;  but  he  did  not  let  them  know  he  was  in  town, 
and  then  he  was  hurt  that  they  ignored  him.  He 
kept  away  from  places  where  he  was  likely  to  meet 
them;  he  thought  that  it  must  have  come  to  them 
that  he  was  spending  the  winter  in  New  York,  and 
as  bitterly  as  his  nature  would  suffer  he  resented 
the  indifference  of  the  Ohio  Society  to  the  presence 
of  an  Ohio  man  of  his  local  distinction.  He  had 
not  the  habit  of  clubs,  and  when  one  of  the  pleasant 
younger  fellows  whom  he  met  in  the  hotel  offered 
to  put  him  up  at  one,  he  shrank  from  the  courtesy 
shyly  and  almost  dryly.  He  had  outlived  the  period 
of  active  curiosity,  and  he  did  not  explore  the  city 
as  he  would  once  have  done.  He  had  no  resorts  out 
of  the  hotel,  except  the  basements  of  the  second 
hand  book-dealers.  He  haunted  these,  and  picked 
up  copies  of  war  histories  and  biographies,  which, 
as  fast  as  he  read  them,  he  sent  off  to  his  son  at 
Tuskingum,  and  had  him  put  them  away  with  the 
documents  for  the  life  of  his  regiment.  His  wife 


THE   KEXTONS  23 

could  see,  with  compassion  if  not  sympathy,  that 
he  was  fondly  strengthening  by  these  means  the 
ties  that  bound  him  to  his  home,  and  she  silently 
proposed  to  go  back  to  it  with  him  whenever  he 
should  say  the  word. 

He  had  a  mechanical  fidelity,  however,  to  their 
agreement  that  they  should  stay  till  spring,  and 
he  made  no  sign  of  going,  as  the  winter  wore  away 
to  its  end,  except  to  write  out  to  Tuskingum  minute 
instructions  for  getting  the  garden  ready.  He  va 
ried  his  visits  to  the  book-stalls  by  conferences  with 
seedsmen  at  their  stores;  and  his  wife  could  see 
that  he  had  as  keen  a  satisfaction  in  despatching 
a  rare  find  from  one  as  from  the  other. 

She  forbore  to  make  him  realize  that  the  situ 
ation  had  not  changed,  and  that  they  would  be  tak 
ing  their  daughter  back  to  the  trouble  the  girl  her 
self  had  wished  to  escape.  She  was  trusting,  with 
no  definite  hope,  for  some  chance  of  making  him 
feel  this,  while  Kenton  was  waiting  with  a  kind  of 
passionate  patience  for  the  term  of  his  exile,  when 
he  came  in  one  day  in  April  from  one  of  his  long 
walks,  and  said  he  had  been  up  to  the  Park  to  see 
the  blackbirds.  But  he  complained  of  being  tired, 
and  he  lay  down  on  his  bed.  He  did  not  get  up  for 
dinner,  and  then  it  was  six  weeks  before  he  left 
his  room. 

He  could  not  remember  that  he  had  ever  been 
sick  so  long  before,  and  he  was  so  awed  by  his  suf 
fering,  which  was  severe  but  not  serious,  that  when 
his  doctor  said  he  thought  a  voyage  to  Europe 


24  THE  KENTONS 

would  be  good  for  him  he  submitted  too  meekly  for 
Mrs.  Kenton.  Her  heart  smote  her  for  her  guilty 
joy  in  his  sentence,  and  she  punished  herself  by  ask 
ing  if  it  would  not  do  him  more  good  to  get  back 
to  the  comfort  and  quiet  of  their  own  house.  She 
went  to  the  length  of  saying  that  she  believed  his 
attack  had  been  brought  on  more  by  homesickness 
than  anything  else.  But  the  doctor  agreed  rather 
with  her  wish  than  her  word,  and  held  out  that 
his  melancholy  was  not  the  cause  but  the  effect 
of  his  disorder.  Then  she  took  courage  and  began 
getting  ready  to  go.  She  did  not  flag  even  in  the 
dark  hours  when  Kenton  got  back  his  courage 
with  his  returning  strength,  and  scoffed  at  the  no 
tion  of  Europe,  and  insisted  that  as  soon  as  they 
were  in  Tuskingum  he  should  be  all  right  again. 

She  felt  the  ingratitude,  not  to  say  the  perfidy, 
of  his  behavior,  and  she  fortified  herself  indignantly 
against  it;  but  it  was  not  her  constant  purpose,  or 
the  doctor's  inflexible  opinion,  that  prevailed  with 
Kenton  at  last.  A  letter  came  one  day  for  Ellen 
which  she  showed  to  her  mother,  and  which  her 
mother,  with  her  distress  obscurely  relieved  by  a 
sense  of  .its  powerful  instrumentality,  brought  to 
the  girl's  father.  It  was  from  that  fellow,  as  they 
always  called  him,  and  it  asked  of  the  girl  a  hear 
ing  upon  a  certain  point  in  which,  it  had  just  come 
to  his  knowledge,  she  had  misjudged  him.  He  made 
no  claim  upon  her,  and  only  urged  his  wish  to  right 
himself  with  her  because  she  was  the  one  person 
in  the  whole  world,  after  his  mother,  for  whose 


THE  KENTONS  25 

good  opinion  he  cared.  With  some  tawdriness  of  sen 
timent,  the  letter  was  well  worded;  it  was  professedly 
written  for  the  sole  purpose  of  knowing  whether, 
when  she  came  back  to  Tuskingum,  she  would  see 
him,  and  let  him  prove  to  her  that  he  was  not  wholly 
unworthy  of  the  kindness  she  had  shown  him  when 
he  was  without  other  friends. 

"What  does  she  say?"  the  judge  demanded. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  ?"  his  wife  retorted.  "  She 
thinks  she  ought  to  see  him." 

"  Very  well,  then.    We  will  go  to  Europe." 

"  Not  on  my  account !"  Mrs.  Kenton  consciously 
protested. 

"No;  not  on  your  account,  or  mine,  either.  On 
Nelly's  account.  Where  is  she?  I  want  to  talk 
with  her." 

"And  I  want  to  talk  with  you.  She's  out,  with 
Lottie;  and  when  she  comes  back  I  will  tell  her 
what  you  say.  But  I  want  to  know  what  you 
think,  first." 


Ill 


IT  was  some  time  before  they  arrived  at  a  com 
mon  agreement  as  to  what  Kenton  thought,  and 
when  they  reached  it  they  decided  that  they  must 
leave  the  matter  altogether  to  Ellen,  as  they  had 
done  before.  They  would  never  force  her  to  any 
thing,  and  if,  after  all  that  her  mother  could  say, 
she  still  wished  to  see  the  fellow,  they  would  not 
deny  her. 

When  it  came  to  this,  Ellen  was  a  long  time 
silent,  so  long  a  time  that  her  mother  was  begin 
ning  restively  to  doubt  whether  she  was  going  to 
speak  at  all.  Then  she  drew  a  long,  silent  breath. 
"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  despise  myself,  momma,  for 
caring  for  him,  when  he's  never  really  said  that 
he  cared  for  me." 

"  No,  no,"  her  mother  faltered. 

"But  I  do,  I  do!"  she  gave  way  piteously.  "I 
can't  help  it !  He  doesn't  say  so,  even  now." 

"  No,  he  doesn't."  It  hurt  her  mother  to  own  the 
fact  that  alone  gave  her  hope. 

The  girl  was  a  long  time  silent  again  before  she 
asked,  "  Has  poppa  got  the  tickets  ?" 

"Why,  he  wouldn't,  Ellen,  child,  till  he  knew 
how  you  felt,"  her  mother  tenderly  reproached  her. 


THE  KENTONS  27 

"He'd  better  not  wait!"  The  tears  ran  silently 
down  Ellen's  cheeks,  and  her  lips  twitched  a  little 
between  these  words  and  the  next;  she  spoke  as  if 
it  were  still  of  her  father,  but  her  mother  under 
stood.  "If  he  ever  does  say  so,  don't  you  speak 
a  word  to  me,  momma ;  and  don't  you  let  poppa." 

"No;  indeed  I  won't,"  her  mother  promised. 
"  Have  we  ever  interfered,  Ellen  ?  Have  we  ever 
tried  to  control  you  ?" 

"  He  would  have  said  so,  if  he  hadn't  seen  that 
everybody  was  against  him."  The  mother  bore 
without  reply  the  ingratitude  and  injustice  that  she 
knew  were  from  the  child's  pain  and  not  from  her 
will.  "Where  is  his  letter?  Give  me  his  letter!" 
She  nervously  twitched  it  from  her  mother's  hand 
and  ran  it  into  her  pocket.  She  turned  away  to  go 
and  put  off  her  hat,  which  she  still  wore  from  coming 
in  with  Lottie;  but  she  stopped  and  looked  over 
her  shoulder  at  her  mother.  "I'm  going  to  an 
swer  it,  and  I  don't  want  you  ever  to  ask  me  what 
I've  said.  Will  you?" 

"  No,  I  won't,  Nelly." 

"Well,  then!" 

The  next  night  she  went  with  Boyne  and  Lottie 
to  the  apartment  overhead  to  spend  their  last  even 
ing  with  the  young  people  there,  who  were  going 
into  the  country  the  next  day.  She  came  back 
without  the  others,  who  wished  to  stay  a  little  longer, 
as  she  said,  with  a  look  of  gay  excitement  in  her 
eyes,  which  her  mother  knew  was  not  happiness. 
Mrs.  Kenton  had  an  impulse  to  sweep  into  her  lap 


28  THE  KENTONS 

the  lithograph  plans  of  the  steamer,  and  the  pas 
sage  ticket  which  lay  open  on  the  table  before 
herself  and  her  husband.  But  it  was  too  late 
to  hide  them  from  Ellen.  She  saw  them,  and 
caught  up  the  ticket,  and  read  it,  and  flung  it 
down  again.  "Oh,  I  didn't  think  you  would  do 
it!"  she  burst  out;  and  she  ran  away  to  her  room, 
where  they  could  hear  her  sobbing,  as  they  sat 
haggardly  facing  each  other. 

"  Well,  that  settles  it,"  said  Kenton  at  last,  with 
a  hard  gulp. 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  his  wife  assented. 

On  his  part,  now,  he  had  a  genuine  regret  for 
her  disappointment  from  the  sad  safety  of  the 
trouble  that  would  keep  them  at  home;  and  on 
her  part  she  could  be  glad  of  it  if  any  sort  of 
comfort  could  come  out  of  it  to  him. 

"  Till  she  says  go,"  he  added,  "  we've  got  to 
stay." 

"  Oh  yes,"  his  wife  responded.  "  The  worst  of  it 
is,  we  can't  even  go  back  to  Tuskingum."  He  looked 
up  suddenly  at  her,  and  she  saw  that  he  had  not 
thought  of  this.  She  made  "  Tchk !"  in  sheer  amaze 
at  him. 

"  We  won't  cross  that  river  till  we  come  to  it," 
he  said,  sullenly,  but  half -ashamed.  The  next  morn 
ing  the  situation  had  not  changed  overnight,  as 
they  somehow  both  crazily  hoped  it  might,  and  at 
breakfast,  which  they  had  at  a  table  grown  more 
remote  from  others  with  the  thinning  out  of  the 
winter  guests  of  the  hotel,  the  father  and  mother 


THE  KENTONS  29 

sat  down  alone  in  silence  which  was  scarcely  broken 
till  Lottie  and  Boyne  joined  them. 

"  Where's  Ellen  ?"  the  boy  demanded. 

"  She's  having  her  breakfast  in  her  room,"  Mrs. 
Kenton  answered. 

"  She  says  she  don't  want  to  eat  anything,"  Lot 
tie  reported.  "  She  made  the  man  take  it  away 
again." 

The  gloom  deepened  in  the  faces  of  the  father 
and  mother,  but  neither  spoke,  and  Boyne  resumed 
the  word  again  in  a  tone  of  philosophic  specula 
tion.  "  I  don't  see  how  I'm  going  to  get  along  with 
those  European  breakfasts.  They  say  you  can't 
get  anything  but  cold  meat  or  eggs;  and  generally 
they  don't  expect  to  give  you  anything  but  bread 
and  butter  with  your  coffee.  I  don't  think  that's 
the  way  to  start  the  day,  do  you,  poppa  ?" 

Kenton  seemed  not  to  have  heard,  for  he  went 
on  silently  eating,  and  the  mother,  who  had  not 
been  appealed  to,  merely  looked  distractedly  across 
the  table  at  her  children. 

"  Mr.  Plumpton  says  he's  coming  down  to  see 
us  off,"  said  Lottie,  smoothing  her  napkin  in  her 
lap.  "  Do  you  know  the  time  of  day  when  the  boat 
sails,  momma?" 

"Yes,"  her  brother  broke  in,  "and  if  I  had 
been  momma  I'd  have  boxed  your  ears  for  the 
way  you  went  on  with  him.  You  fairly  teased  him 
to  come.  The  way  Lottie  goes  on  with  men  is  a 
shame,  momma." 

"  What  time  does  the  boat  sail,  momma  ?"  Lottie 


30  THE   KENTONS 

blandly  persisted.  "  I  promised  to  let  Mr.  Plumpton 
know." 

"Yes,  so  as  to  get  a  chance  to  write  to  him," 
said  Boyne.  "  I  guess  when  he  sees  your  spelling !" 

"  Momma !  Do  wake  up !  What  time  does  our 
steamer  sail?" 

A  light  of  consciousness  came  into  Mrs.  Kenton's 
eyes  at  last,  and  she  sighed  gently.  "We're  not 
going,  Lottie." 

"  Not  going !  Why,  but  we've  got  the  tickets,  and 
I've  told—" 

"Your  father  has  decided  not  to  go,  for  the 
present.  We  may  go  later  in  the  summer,  or 
perhaps  in  the  fall." 

Boyne  looked  at  his  father's  troubled  face,  and 
said  nothing,  but  Lottie  was  not  stayed  from  the 
expression  of  her  feelings  by  any  ill-timed  con 
sideration  for  what  her  father's  might  be.  "I  just 
know,"  she  fired,  "it's  something  to  do  with  that 
nasty  Bittridge.  He's  been  a  bitter  dose  to  this 
family !  As  soon  as  I  saw  Ellen  have  a  letter  I  was 
sure  it  was  from  him ;  and  she  ought  to  be  ashamed. 
If  I  had  played  the  simpleton  with  such  a  fellow 
I  guess  you  wouldn't  have  let  me  keep  you  from 
going  to  Europe  very  much.  What  is  she  going 
to  do  now?  Marry  him?  Or  doesn't  he  want 
her  to?" 

"  Lottie !"  said  her  mother,  and  her  father  glanced 
up  at  her  with  a  face  that  silenced  her. 

"  When  you've  been  half  as  good  a  girl  as  Ellen 
has  been,  in  this  whole  matter,"  he  said,  darkly, 


THE   KENTONS  31 

"it  will  be  time  for  you  to  complain  of  the  way 
you've  been  treated." 

"Oh  yes,  I  know  you  like  Ellen  the  best,"  said 
the  girl,  defiantly. 

"  Don't  say  such  a  thing,  Lottie !"  said  her  mother. 
"  Your  father  loves  all  his  children  alike,  and  I  won't 
have  you  talking  so  to  him.  Ellen  has  had  a  great 
deal  to  bear,  and  she  has  behaved  beautifully.  If 
we  are  not  going  to  Europe  it  is  because  we  have 
decided  that  it  is  best  not  to  go,  and  I  wish  to 
hear  nothing  more  from  you  about  it." 

"  Oh  yes !  And  a  nice  position  it  leaves  me  in, 
when  I've  been  taking  good-bye  of  everybody !  Well, 
I  hope  to  goodness  you  won't  say  anything  about 
it  till  the  Plumptons  get  away.  I  couldn't  have 
the  face  to  meet  them  if  you  did." 

"  It  won't  be  necessary  to  say  anything ;  or  you 
can  say  that  we've  merely  postponed  our  sailing. 
People  are  always  doing  that." 

"  It's  not  to  be  a  postponement,"  said  Kenton,  so 
sternly  that  no  one  ventured  to  dispute  him,  the 
children  because  they  were  afraid  of  him,  and 
their  mother  because  she  was  suffering  for  him. 

At  the  steamship  office,  however,  the  authorities 
represented  that  it  was  now  so  near  the  date  of 
his  sailing  that  they  could  not  allow  him  to  re 
linquish  his  passages  except  at  his  own  risk.  They 
would  try  to  sell  his  ticket  for  him,  but  they  could 
not  take  it  back,  and  they  could  not  promise  to 
sell  it.  There  was  reason  in  what  they  said,  but  if 
there  had  been  none,  they  had  the  four  hundred 


32  THE  KENTONS 

dollars  which  Kenton  had  paid  for  his  five  berths, 
and  they  had  at  least  the  advantage  of  him  in  the 
argument  by  that  means.  He  put  the  ticket  back 
in  his  pocket-book  without  attempting  to  answer 
them,  and  deferred  his  decision  till  he  could  advise 
with  his  wife,  who,  after  he  left  the  breakfast-table 
upon  his  errand  to  the  steamship  office,  had  aban 
doned  her  children  to  their  own  devices,  and  gone 
up  to  scold  Ellen  for  not  eating. 

She  had  not  the  heart  to  scold  her  when  she  found 
the  girl  lying  face  downward  in  the  pillow,  with 
her  thin  arms  thrown  up  through  the  coils  and 
heaps  of  her  loose-flung  hair.  She  was  so  slight 
that  her  figure  scarcely  defined  itself  under  the 
bedclothes ;  the  dark  hair,  and  the  white,  outstretch 
ed  arms  seemed  all  there  was  of  her.  She  did  not 
stir,  but  her  mother  knew  she  was  not  sleeping. 
"  Ellen,"  she  said,  gently,  "  you  needn't  be  troubled 
about  our  going  to  Europe.  Your  father  has 
gone  down  to  the  steamship  office  to  give  back  his 
ticket." 

The  girl  flashed  her  face  round  with  nervous 
quickness.  "  Gone  to  give  back  his  ticket !" 

"  Yes,  we  decided  it  last  night.  He's  never  really 
wanted  to  go,  and — " 

"  But  I  don't  wish  poppa  to  give  up  his  ticket !" 
said  Ellen.  "He  must  get  it  again.  I  shall  die  if 
I  stay  here,  momma.  We  have  got  to  go.  Can't 
you  understand  that  ?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  did  not  know  what  to  answer.  She 
had  a  strong  superficial  desire  to  shake  her  daugh- 


THE   KENTONS  33 

ter  as  a  naughty  child  which  has  vexed  its  mother, 
but  under  this  was  a  still  stronger  pity  for  her  as  a 
woman,  which  easily  prevailed.  "  Why,  but,  Ellen 
dear!  We  thought  from  what  you  said  last  night — " 

"But  couldn't  you  see?"  the  girl  reproached  her, 
and  she  began  to  cry,  and  turned  her  face  into  the 
pillow  again  and  lay  sobbing. 

"Well,"  said  her  mother,  after  she  had  given 
her  a  little  time,  "you  needn't  be  troubled.  Your 
father  can  easily  get  the  ticket  again;  he  can  tele 
phone  down  for  it.  Nothing  has  been  done  yet. 
But  didn't  you  really  want  to  stay,  then  ?" 

"It  isn't  whether  I  want  to  stay  or  not,"  Ellen 
spoke  into  her  pillow.  "  You  know  that.  You  know 
that  I  have  got  to  go.  You  know  that  if  I  saw 
him —  Oh,  why  do  you  make  me  talk  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand,  child."  Then,  in  the  imperi 
ous  necessity  of  blaming  some  one,  Mrs.  Kenton 
added:  "You  know  how  it  is  with  your  father. 
He  is  always  so  precipitate;  and  when  he  heard 
what  you  said,  last  night,  it  cut  him  to  the  heart. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  dragging  you  away,  and  this 
morning  he  could  hardly  wait  to  get  through  his 
breakfast  before  he  rushed  down  to  the  steamship 
office.  But  now  it's  all  right  again,  and  if  you 
want  to  go,  we'll  go,  and  your  father  will  only  be 
too  glad." 

"  I  don't  want  father  to  go  against  his  will.  You 
said  he  never  wanted  to  go  to  Europe."  The  girl 
had  turned  her  face  upon  her  mother  again,  and 
fixed  her  with  her  tearful,  accusing  eyes. 


94  THE   KENTONB 

"  The  doctors  say  he  ought  to  go.  He  needs  the 
change,  and  I  think  we  should  all  be  the  better  for 
getting  away." 

"  I  shall  not,"  said  Ellen.    "  But  if  I  don't—" 

"Yes,"  said  her  mother,  soothingly. 

"  You  know  that  nothing  has  changed.  He  hasn't 
changed  and  I  haven't.  If  he  was  bad,  he's  as  bad 
as  ever,  and  I'm  just  as  silly.  Oh,  it's  like  a 
drunkard!  I  suppose  they  know  it's  killing  them, 
but  they  can't  give  it  up!  Don't  you  think  it's 
very  strange,  momma?  I  don't  see  why  I  should 
be  so.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  no  character  at  all,  and 
I  despise  myself  so !  Do  you  believe  I  shall  ever  get 
over  it?  Sometimes  I  think  the  best  thing  for  me 
would  be  to  go  into  an  asylum." 

"  Oh  yes,  dear ;  you'll  get  over  it,  and  forget  it 
all.  As  soon  as  you  see  others — other  scenes — 
and  get  interested — " 

"And  you  don't— you  don't  think  I'd  better  let 
him  come,  and — " 

"Ellen!" 

Ellen  began  to  sob  again,  and  toss  her  head  upon 
the  pillow.  "  What  shall  I  do?  What  shall  I  do?" 
she  wailed.  "He  hasn't  ever  done  anything  bad 
to  me,  and  if  I  can  overlook  his — his  flirting — with 
that  horrid  thing,  I  don't  know  what  the  rest 
of  you  have  got  to  say.  And  he  says  he  can  explain 
everything.  Why  shouldn't  I  give  him  the  chance, 
momma?  I  do  think  it  is  acting  very  cruel  not 
to  let  him  even  say  a  word." 

"You  can  see  him  if  you  wish,  Ellen,"  said  her 


THE   KENTONS  35 

mother,  gravely.  "  Your  father  and  I  have  always 
said  that.  And  perhaps  it  would  be  the  best  thing, 
after  all." 

"Oh,  you  say  that  because  you  think  that  if  I 
did  see  him,  I  should  be  so  disgusted  with  him  that 
I'd  never  want  to  speak  to  him  again.  But  what 
if  I  shouldn't?" 

"  Then  we  should  wish  you  to  do  whatever  you 
thought  was  for  your  happiness,  Ellen.  We  can't 
believe  it  would  be  for  your  good;  but  if  it  would 
be  for  your  happiness,  we  are  willing.  Or,  if  you 
don't  think  it's  for  your  happiness,  but  only  for 
his,  and  you  wish  to  do  it,  still  we  shall  be  willing, 
and  you  know  that  as  far  as  your  father  and  I  are 
concerned,  there  will  never  be  a  word  of  reproach 
— not  a  whisper." 

"  Lottie  would  despise  me ;  and  what  would  Rich 
ard  say?" 

"Richard  would  never  say  anything  to  wound 
you,  dear,  and  if  you  don't  despise  yourself,  you 
needn't  mind  Lottie." 

"But  I  should,  momma;  that's  the  worst  of  it! 
I  should  despise  myself,  and  he  would  despise  me 
too.  No,  if  I  see  him,  I  am  going  to  do  it  because 
I  am  selfish  and  wicked,  and  wish  to  have  my  own 
way,  no  matter  who  is  harmecrby  it,  or — anything; 
and  I'm  not  going  to  have  it  put  on  any  other 
ground.  I  could  see  him,"  she  said,  as  if  to  her 
self,  "  just  once  more — only  once  more — and  then 
if  I  didn't  believe  in  him,  I  could  start  right  off  to 
Europe." 


36  THE  KENTONS 

Her  mother  made  no  answer  to  this,  and  Ellen 
lay  awhile  apparently  forgetful  of  her  presence,  in 
wardly  dramatizing  a  passionate  scene  of  dismissal 
between  herself  and  her  false  lover.  She  roused 
herself  from  the  reverie  with  a  long  sigh,  and  her 
mother  said,  "  Won't  you  have  some  breakfast,  now, 
Ellen?" 

"  Yes ;  and  I  will  get  up.  You  needn't  be  troubled 
any  more  about  me,  momma.  I  will  write  to  him 
not  to  come,  and  poppa  must  go  back  and  get  his 
ticket  again." 

"Not  unless  you  are  doing  this  of  your  own 
free  will,  child.  I  can't  have  you  feeling  that  we 
are  putting  any  pressure  upon  you." 

"You're  not.  I'm  doing  it  of  my  own  will.  If 
it  isn't  my  free  will,  that  isn't  your  fault.  I  wonder 
whose  fault  it  is?  Mine,  or  what  made  me  so  silly 
and  weak?" 

"You  are  not  silly  and  weak,"  said  her  mother, 
fondly,  and  she  bent  over  the  girl  and  would  have 
kissed  her,  but  Ellen  averted  her  face  with  a  piteous 
"Don't!"  and  Mrs.  Kenton  went  out  and  ordered 
her  breakfast  brought  back. 

She  did  not  go  in  to  make  her  eat  it,  as  she  would 
have  done  in  the  beginning  of  the  girl's  trouble; 
they  had  all  learned  how  much  better  she  was  for 
being  left  to  fight  her  battles  with  herself  single- 
handed.  Mrs.  Kenton  waited  in  the  parlor  till  her 
husband  came  in,  looking  gloomy  and  tired.  He 
put  his  hat  down  and  sank  into  a  chair  without 
speaking.  "Well?"  she  said. 


THE  KENTONS  37 

"We  have  got  to  lose  the  price  of  the  ticket,  if 
we  give  it  back.  I  thought  I  had  better  talk  with 
you  first,"  said  Kenton,  and  he  explained  the 
situation. 

"  Then  you  had  better  simply  have  it  put  off 
till  the  next  steamer.  I  have  been  talking  with 
Ellen,  and  she  doesn't  want  to  stay.  She  wants 
to  go."  His  wife  took  advantage  of  Kenton's  mute 
amaze  (in  the  nervous  vagaries  even  of  the  women 
nearest  him  a  man  learns  nothing  from  experience) 
to  put  her  own  interpretation  on  the  case,  which, 
as  it  was  creditable  to  the  girl's  sense  and  principle, 
he  found  acceptable  if  not  imaginable.  "And  if 
you  will  take  my  advice,"  she  ended,  "  you  will 
go  quietly  back  to  the  steamship  office  and  exchange 
your  ticket  for  the  next  steamer,  or  the  one  after 
that,  if  you  can't  get  good  rooms,  and  give  Ellen 
time  to  get  over  this  before  she  leaves.  It  will  be 
much  better  for  her  to  conquer  herself  than  to  run 
away,  for  that  would  always  give  her  a  feeling  of 
shame,  and  if  she  decides  before  she  goes,  it  will 
strengthen  her  pride  and  self-respect,  and  there 
will  be  less  danger — when  we  come  back." 

"  Do  you  think  he's  going  to  keep  after  her  ?" 

"How  can  I  tell?  He  will  if  he  thinks  it's  to 
his  interest,  or  he  can  make  anybody  miserable 
by  it." 

Kenton  said  nothing  to  this,  but  after  a  while 
he  suggested,  rather  timorously,  as  if  it  were  some 
thing  he  could  not  expect  her  to  approve,  and  was 
himself  half  ashamed  of,  "  I  believe  if  I  do  put  it 


38  THE  KENTONS 

off,  I'll  run  out  to  Tuskingum  before  we  sail,  and 
look  after  a  little  matter  of  business  that  I  don't 
think  Dick  can  attend  to  so  well." 

His  wife  knew  why  he  wanted  to  go,  and  in  her 
own  mind  she  had  already  decided  that  if  he  should 
ever  propose  to  go,  she  should  not  gainsay  him. 
She  had,  in  fact,  been  rather  surprised  that  he  had 
not  proposed  it  before  this,  and  now  she  assented, 
without  taxing  him  with  his  real  motive,  and  bring 
ing  him  to  open  disgrace  before  her.  She  even 
went  further  in  saying :  "  Very  well,  then  you  had 
better  go.  I  can  get  on  very  well  here,  and  I 
think  it  will  leave  Ellen  freer  to  act  for  herself 
if  you  are  away.  And  there  are  some  things  in 
the  house  that  I  want,  and  that  Richard  would  be 
sure  to  send  his  wife  to  get  if  I  asked  him,  and  I 
won't  have  her  rummaging  around  in  my  closets. 
I  suppose  you  will  want  to  go  into  the  house?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Kenton,  who  had  not  let 
a  day  pass,  since  he  left  his  house,  without  spending 
half  his  homesick  time  in  it.  His  wife  suffered  his 
affected  indifference  to  go  without  exposure,  and 
trumped  up  a  commission  for  him,  which  would 
take  him  intimately  into  the  house. 


IV 


THE  piety  of  his  son  Eichard  had  maintained 
the  place  at  Tuskingum  in  perfect  order  outwardly, 
and  Kenton's  heart  ached  with  tender  pain  as  he 
passed  up  the  neatly  kept  walk  from  the  gate,  be 
tween  the  blooming  ranks  of  syringas  and  snow 
balls,  to  his  door,  and  witnessed  the  faithful  care 
that  Richard's  hired  man  had  bestowed  upon  every 
detail.  The  grass  between  the  banks  of  roses  and 
rhododendrons  had  been  as  scrupulously  lawn-mow- 
ered  and  as  sedulously  garden-hosed  as  if  Kenton 
himself  had  been  there  to  look  after  its  welfare,  or 
had  tended  the  shrubbery  as  he  used  to  do  in  earlier 
days  with  his  own  hand.  The  oaks  which  he  had 
planted  shook  out  their  glossy  green  in  the  morning 
gale,  and  in  the  tulip-trees,  which  had  snowed  their 
petals  on  the  ground  in  wide  circles  defined  by  the 
reach  of  their  branches,  he  heard  the  squirrels  bark 
ing;  a  red-bird  from  the  woody  depths  behind  the 
house  mocked  the  cat-birds  in  the  quince-trees.  The 
June  rose  was  red  along  the  trellis  of  the  veranda, 
where  Lottie  ought  to  be  sitting  to  receive  the 
morning  calls  of  the  young  men  who  were  some 
times  quite  as  early  as  Kenton's  present  visit  in 
their  devotions,  and  the  sound  of  Ellen's  piano, 


40  THE   KENTONS 

played  fitfully  and  absently  in  her  fashion,  ought  to 
be  coming  out  irrespective  of  the  hour.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  his  wife  must  open  the  door  as  his  steps 
and  his  son's  made  themselves  heard  on  the  walk 
between  the  box  borders  in  their  upper  orchard,  and 
he  faltered  a  little. 

"Look  here,  father,"  said  his  son,  detecting  his 
hesitation.  "  Why  don't  you  let  Mary  come  in  with 
you,  and  help  you  find  those  things?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Kenton,  sinking  into  one  of  the 
wooden  seats  that  flanked  the  door-way.  "  I  promised 
your  mother  that  I  would  get  them  myself.  You 
know  women  don't  like  to  have  other  women  going 
through  their  houses." 

"Yes,  but  Mary!"  his  son  urged. 

"  Ah !  It's  just  Mary,  with  her  perfect  house 
keeping,  that  your  mother  wouldn't  like  to  have 
see  the  way  she  left  things,"  said  Kenton,  and  he 
smiled  at  the  notion  of  any  one  being  housekeeper 
enough  to  find  a  flaw  in  his  wife's.  "My,  but 
this  is  pleasant!"  he  added.  He  took  off  his  hat 
and  let  the  breeze  play  through  the  lank,  thin  hair 
which  was  still  black  on  his  fine,  high  forehead. 
He  was  a  very  handsome  old  man,  with  a  delicate 
aquiline  profile,  of  the  perfect  Koman  type  which 
is  perhaps  oftener  found  in  America  than  ever  it 
was  in  Rome.  "  You've  kept  it  very  nice,  Dick,"  he 
said,  with  a  generalizing  wave  of  his  hat. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  tell  whether  you  would  be 
coming  back  or  not,  and  I  thought  I  had  better  be 
ready  for  you." 


THE  KENTONS  41 

"  I  wish  we  were,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  we  shall 
be,  in  the  fall,  or  the  latter  part  of  the  summer. 
But  it's  better  now  that  we  should  go — on  Ellen's 
account." 

"  Oh,  you'll  enjoy  it,"  his  son  evaded  him. 

"You  haven't  seen  anything  of  him  lately?" 
Kenton  suggested. 

"He  wasn't  likely  to  let  me  see  anything  of 
him,"  returned  the  son. 

" No/'  said  the  father.  "  Well!"  He  rose  to  put 
the  key  into  the  door,  and  his  son  stepped  down  from 
the  little  porch  to  the  brick  walk. 

"Mary  will  have  dinner  early,  father;  and  when 
you've  got  through  here,  you'd  better  come  over 
and  lie  down  a  while  beforehand." 

Kenton  had  been  dropped  at  eight  o'clock  from 
a  sleeper  on  the  Great  Three,  and  had  refused  break 
fast  at  his  son's  house,  upon  the  plea  that  the 
porter  had  given  him  a  Southern  cantaloupe  and  a 
cup  of  coffee  on  the  train,  and  he  was  no  longer 
hungry. 

"  All  right,"  he  said.  "  I  won't  be  longer  than  I 
can  help."  He  had  got  the  door  open  and  was 
going  to  close  it  again. 

His  son  laughed.  "Better  not  shut  it,  father. 
It  will  let  the  fresh  air  in." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  said  the  old  man. 

The  son  lingered  about,  giving  some  orders  to 
the  hired  man  in  the  vegetable  garden,  for  an  ex 
cuse,  in  the  hope  that  his  father  might  change  his 
mind  and  ask  him  to  come  into  the  house  with  him ; 


42  THE  KENTONS 

he  felt  it  so  forlorn  for  him  to  be  going  through 
those  lifeless  rooms  alone.  When  he  looked  round, 
and  saw  his  father  holding  the  door  ajar,  as  if 
impatiently  waiting  for  him  to  be  gone,  he  laughed 
and  waved  his  hand  to  him.  "All  right,  father! 
I'm  going  now."  But  though  he  treated  the  matter 
so  lightly  with  his  father,  he  said  grimly  to  his 
wife,  as  he  passed  her  on  their  own  porch,  on  his 
way  to  his  office,  "  I  don't  like  to  think  of  father 
being  driven  out  of  house  and  home  this  way." 

"Neither  do  I,  Dick.  But  it  can't  be  helped, 
can  it?" 

"I  think  I  could  help  it,  if  I  got  my  hands  on 
that  fellow  once." 

"  No,  you  couldn't,  Dick.  It's  not  he  that's  doing 
it.  It's  Ellen;  you  know  that  well  enough;  and 
you've  just  got  to  stand  it." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Richard  Kenton. 

"  Of  course,  my  heart  aches  for  your  poor  old 
father,  but  so  it  would  if  Ellen  had  some  kind  of 
awful  sickness.  It  is  a  kind  of  sickness,  and  you 
can't  fight  it  any  more  than  if  she  really  was  sick." 

"No,"  said  the  husband,  dejectedly.  "You  just 
slip  over  there,  after  a  while,  Mary,  if  father's 
gone  too  long,  will  you?  I  don't  like  to  have  him 
there  alone." 

"'Deed  and  'deed  I  won't,  Dick.  He  wouldn't 
like  it  at  all,  my  spying  round.  Nothing  can  happen 
to  him,  and  I  believe  your  mother's  just  made  an 
excuse  to  send  him  after  something,  so  that  he 
can  be  in  there  alone,  and  realize  that  the  house 


THE   KENTONS  43 

isn't  home  any  more.  It  '11  be  easier  for  him  to 
go  to  Europe  when  he  finds  that  out.  I  believe 
in  my  heart  that  was  her  idea  in  not  wanting  me 
to  find  the  things  for  him,  and  I'm  not  going  to 
meddle  myself." 

With  the  fatuity  of  a  man  in  such  things,  and 
with  the  fatuity  of  age  regarding  all  the  things 
of  the  past,  Kenton  had  thought  in  his  homesick 
ness  of  his  house  as  he  used  to  be  in  it,  and  had 
never  been  able  to  picture  it  without  the  family 
life.  As  he  now  walked  through  the  empty  rooms, 
and  up  and  down  the  stairs,  his  pulse  beat  low  as 
if  in  the  presence  of  death.  Everything  was  as  they 
had  left  it,  when  they  went  out  of  the  house,  and 
it  appeared  to  Kenton  that  nothing  had  been  touch 
ed  there  since,  though  when  he  afterwards  report 
ed  to  his  wife  that  there  was  not  a  speck  of  dust 
anywhere  she  knew  that  Mary  had  been  going 
through  the  house,  in  their  absence,  not  once  only, 
but  often,  and  she  felt  a  pang  of  grateful  jealousy. 
He  got  together  the  things  that  Mrs.  Kenton  had 
pretended  to  want,  and  after  glancing  in  at  the 
different  rooms,  which  seemed  to  be  lying  stealthily 
in  wait  for  him,  with  their  emptiness  and  silence,  he 
went  down-stairs  with  the  bundle  he  had  made, 
and  turned  into  his  library.  He  had  some  thought 
of  looking  at  the  collections  for  his  history,  but, 
after  pulling  open  one  of  the  drawers  in  which  they 
were  stored,  he  pushed  it  to  again,  and  sank  listless 
ly  into  his  leather-covered  swivel-chair,  which  stood 
in  its  place  before  the  wide  writing-table,  and  seemed 


44  THE   KENTONS 

to  have  had  him  in  it  before  he  sat  down.  The 
table  was  bare,  except  for  the  books  and  documents 
which  he  had  sent  home  from  time  to  time  during 
the  winter,  and  which  Richard  or  his  wife  had  neat 
ly  arranged  there  without  breaking  their  wraps. 
He  let  fall  his  bundle  at  his  feet,  and  sat  staring 
at  the  ranks  of  books  against  the  wall,  mechanical 
ly  relating  them  to  the  different  epochs  of  the  past 
in  which  he  or  his  wife  or  his  children  had  been 
interested  in  them,  and  aching  with  tender  pain. 
He  had  always  supposed  himself  a  happy  and  strong 
and  successful  man,  but  what  a  dreary  ruin  his 
life  had  fallen  into!  Was  it  to  be  finally  so  help 
less  and  powerless  (for  with  all  the  defences  about 
him  that  a  man  can  have,  he  felt  himself  fatally 
vulnerable)  that  he  had  fought  so  many  years? 
Why,  at  his  age,  should  he  be  going  into  exile,  away 
from  everything  that  could  make  his  days  bright 
and  sweet?  Why  could  not  he  come  back  there, 
where  he  was  now  more  solitary  than  he  could 
be  anywhere  else  on  earth,  and  reanimate  the  dead 
body  of  his  home  with  his  old  life?  He  knew  why, 
in  an  immediate  sort,  but  his  quest  was  for  the 
cause  behind  the  cause.  What  had  he  done,  or 
left  undone?  He  had  tried  to  be  a  just  man,  and 
fulfil  all  his  duties  both  to  his  family  and  to  his 
neighbors;  he  had  wished  to  be  kind,  and  not  to 
harm  any  one;  he  reflected  how,  as  he  had  grown 
older,  the  dread  of  doing  any  unkindness  had  grown 
upon  him,  and  how  he  had  tried  not  to  be  proud, 
but  to  walk  meekly  and  humbly.  Why  should  he  be 


THE  KENTONS  45 

punished  as  he  was,  stricken  in  a  place  so  sacred 
that  the  effort  to  defend  himself  had  seemed  a  kind 
of  sacrilege?  He  could  not  make  it  out,  and  he 
was  not  aware  of  the  tears  of  self-pity  that  stole 
slowly  down  his  face,  though  from  time  to  time 
he  wiped  them  away. 

He  heard  steps  in  the  hall  without,  advancing 
and  pausing,  which  must  be  those  of  his  son  coming 
back  for  him,  and  with  these  advances  and  pauses 
giving  him  notice  of  his  approach;  but  he  did  not 
move,  and  at  first  he  did  not  look  up  when  the 
steps  arrived  at  the  threshold  of  the  room  where 
he  sat.  When  he  lifted  his  eyes  at  last  he  saw 
Bittridge  lounging  in  the  door-way,  with  one  shoul 
der  supported  against  the  door- jamb,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets  and  his  hat  pushed  well  back  on  his 
forehead.  In  an  instant  all  Kenton's  humility  and 
soft  repining  were  gone.  "Well,  what  is  it?"  he 
called. 

"  Oh,"  said  Bittridge,  coming  forward.  He  laugh 
ed  and  explained,  "  Didn't  know  if  you  recognized 
me." 

"  I  recognized  you,"  said  Kenton,  fiercely.  "  What 
is  it  you  want  ?" 

"  Well,  I  happened  to  be  passing,  and  I  saw  the 
door  open,  and  I  thought  maybe  Dick  was  here." 

It  was  on  Kenton's  tongue  to  say  that  it  was 
a  good  thing  for  him  Dick  was  not  there.  But  part 
ly  the  sense  that  this  would  be  unbecoming  bluster, 
and  partly  the  suffocating  resentment  of  the  fellow's 
impudence,  limited  his  response  to  a  formless  gasp. 


46  THE   KENTONS 

and  Bittridge  went  on :  "  But  I'm  glad  to  find  you 
here,  judge.  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  in  town. 
Family  all  well  in  New  York?"  He  was  not  quelled 
by  the  silence  of  the  judge  on  this  point,  but,  as 
if  he  had  not  expected  any  definite  reply  to  what 
might  well  pass  for  formal  civility,  he  now  looked 
aslant  into  his  breast-pocket  from  which  he  drew 
a  folded  paper.  "  I  just  got  hold  of  a  document 
this  morning  that  I  think  will  interest  you.  I  was 
bringing  it  round  to  Dick's  wife  for  you."  The 
intolerable  familiarity  of  all  this  was  fast  working 
Kenton  to  a  violent  explosion,  but  he  contained 
himself,  and  Bittridge  stepped  forward  to  lay  the 
paper  on  the  table  before  him.  "It's  the  original 
roster  of  Company  C,  in  your  regiment,  and — " 

"Take  it  away!"  shouted  Kenton,  "and  take 
yourself  away  with  it!"  and  he  grasped  the  stick 
that  shook  in  his  hand. 

A  wicked  light  came  into  Bittridge's  eye  as  he 
drawled,  in  lazy  scorn,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know."  Then 
his  truculence  broke  in  a  malicious  amusement. 
"  Why,  judge,  what's  the  matter  ?"  He  put  on  a 
face  of  mock  gravity,  and  Kenton  knew  with  help 
less  fury  that  he  was  enjoying  his  vantage.  He 
could  fall  upon  him  and  beat  him  with  his  stick, 
leaving  the  situation  otherwise  undefined,  but  a 
moment's  reflection  convinced  Kenton  that  this, 
would  not  do.  It  made  him  sick  to  think  of  strik 
ing  the  fellow,  as  if  in  that  act  he  should  be  strik 
ing  Ellen,  too.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he 
could  be  physically  worsted,  or  that  his  vehement 


THE   KENTONS  47 

age  would  be  no  match  for  the  other's  vigorous 
youth.  All  he  thought  was  that  it  would  not  avail, 
except  to  make  known  to  every  one  what  none 
but  her  dearest  could  now  conjecture.  Bittridge 
could  then  publicly  say,  and  doubtless  would  say, 
that  he  had  never  made  love  to  Ellen;  that  if  there 
had  been  any  love-making  it  was  all  on  her  side; 
and  that  he  had  only  paid  her  the  attentions  which 
any  young  man  might  blamelessly  pay  a  pretty  girl. 
This  would  be  true  to  the  facts  in  the  case,  though 
it  was  true  also  that  he  had  used  every  tacit  art  to 
make  her  believe  him  in  love  with  her.  But 
how  could  this  truth  be  urged,  and  to  whom?  So 
far  the  affair  had  been  quite  in  the  hands  of  Ellen's 
family,  and  they  had  all  acted  for  the  best,  up  to 
the  present  time.  They  had  given  Bittridge  no 
grievance  in  making  him  feel  that  he  was  un 
welcome  in  their  house,  and  they  were  quite  with 
in  their  rights  in  going  away,  and  making  it 
impossible  for  him  to  see  her  again  anywhere  in 
Tuskingum.  As  for  his  seeing  her  in  New  York, 
Ellen  had  but  to  say  that  she  did  not  wish  it,  and 
that  would  end  it.  Now,  however,  by  treating  him 
rudely,  Kenton  was  aware  that  he  had  bound  himself 
to  render  Bittridge  some  account  of  his  behavior 
throughout,  if  the  fellow  insisted  upon  it. 

"  I  want  nothing  to  do  with  you,  sir,"  he  said,  less 
violently,  but,  as  he  felt,  not  more  effectually.  "  You 
are  in  my  house  without  my  invitation,  and  against 
my  wish !" 

"I  didn't  expect  to  find  you  here.     I  came  in 


48  THE  KENTONS 

because  I  saw  the  door  open,  and  I  thought  I 
might  see  Dick  or  his  wife  and  give  them  this 
paper  for  you.  But  I'm  glad  I  found  you,  and  if 
you  won't  give  me  any  reason  for  not  wanting  me 
here,  I  can  give  it  myself,  and  I  think  I  can  make 
out  a  very  good  case  for  you."  Kenton  quivered 
in  anticipation  of  some  mention  of  Ellen,  and  Bit- 
tridge  smiled  as  if  he  understood.  But  he  went  on 
to  say :  "  I  know  that  there  were  things  happened 
after  you  first  gave  me  the  run  of  your  house  that 
might  make  you  want  to  put  up  the  bars  again 
— if  they  were  true.  But  they  were  not  true.  And 
I  can  prove  that  by  the  best  of  all  possible  wit 
nesses — by  Uphill  himself.  He  stands  shoulder  to 
shoulder  with  me,  to  make  it  hot  for  any  one  who 
couples  his  wife's  name  with  mine." 

"Humph!"  Kenton  could  not  help  making  this 
comment,  and  Bittridge,  being  what  he  was,  could 
not  help  laughing. 

"What's  the  use?"  he  asked,  recovering  himself. 
"I  don't  pretend  that  I  did  right,  but  you  know 
there  wasn't  any  harm  in  it.  And  if  there  had 
been  I  should  have  got  the  worst  of  it.  Honestly, 
judge,  I  couldn't  tell  you  how  much  I  prized  being 
admitted  to  your  house  on  the  terms  I  was.  Don't 
you  think  I  could  appreciate  the  kindness  you  all 
showed  me?  Before  you  took  me  up,  I  was  alone 
in  Tuskingum,  but  you  opened  every  door  in  the 
place  for  me.  You  made  it  home  to  me;  and  you 
won't  believe  it,  of  course,  because  you're  prejudiced, 
but  I  felt  like  a  son  and  brother  to  you  all.  I  felt 


THE   KENTONS  49 

towards  Mrs.  Kenton  just  as  I  do  towards  my  own 
mother.  I  lost  the  best  friends  I  ever  had  when  you 
turned  against  me.  Don't  you  suppose  I've  seen 
the  difference  here  in  Tuskingum?  Of  course, 
the  men  pass  the  time  of  day  with  me  when 
we  meet,  but  they  don't  look  me  up,  and  there 
are  more  near-sighted  girls  in  this  town!"  Ken- 
ton  could  not  keep  the  remote  dawn  of  a  smile 
out  of  his  eyes,  and  Bittridge  caught  the  far  -  off 
gleam.  "  And  everybody's  been  away  the  whole 
winter.  Not  a  soul  at  home,  anywhere,  and  I  had 
to  take  my  chance  of  surprising  Mrs.  Dick  Kenton 
when  I  saw  your  door  open  here."  He  laughed  for 
lornly,  as  the  gleam  faded  out  of  Kenton's  eye  again. 
"  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  my  own  mother  isn't 
at  home  to  me,  figuratively  speaking,  when  I  go 
over  to  see  her  at  Ballardsville.  She  got  wind  of 
my  misfortune,  somehow,  and  when  I  made  a  clean 
breast  of  it  to  her,  she  said  she  could  never  feel 
the  same  to  me  till  I  had  made  it  all  right  with  the 
Kentons.  And  when  a  man's  own  mother  is  down 
on  him,  judge!" 

Bittridge  left  Kenton  to  imagine  the  desperate 
case,  and  in  spite  of  his  disbelief  in  the  man  and 
all  he  said,  Kenton  could  not  keep  his  hardness  of 
heart  towards  him.  "I  don't  know  what  you're 
after,  young  man,"  he  began.  "But  if  you  expect 
me  to  receive  you  under  my  roof  again — " 

"Oh,  I  don't,  judge,  I  don't!"  Bittridge  inter 
posed.  "  All  I  want  is  to  be  able  to  tell  my  mother 
— I  don't  care  for  anybody  else — that  I  saw  you, 

4 


50  THE   KENTONS 

and  you  allowed  me  to  say  that  I  was  truly  sorry 
for  the  pain — if  it  was  pain;  or  annoyance,  anyway 
— that  I  had  caused  you,  and  to  go  back  to  her 
with  the  hope  of  atoning  for  it  sometime  or  some 
how.  That's  all." 

"Look  here!"  cried  Kenton.  "What  have  you 
written  to  my  daughter  for?" 

"  Wasn't  that  natural  ?  I  prized  her  esteem  more 
than  I  do  yours  even;  but  did  I  ask  her  any 
thing  more  than  I've  asked  you?  I  didn't  expect 
her  to  answer  me;  all  I  wanted  was  to  have  her 
believe  that  I  wasn't  as  black  as  I  was  painted — 
not  inside,  anyway.  You  know  well  enough — any 
body  knows — that  I  would  rather  have  her  think 
well  of  me  than  any  one  else  in  this  world,  except 
my  mother.  I  haven't  got  the  gift  of  showing  out 
what's  good  in  me,  if  there  is  any  good,  but  I  believe 
Miss  Ellen  would  want  to  think  well  of  me  if  I 
gave  her  a  chance.  If  ever  there  was  an  angel  on 
earth,  she's  one.  I  don't  deny  that  I  was  hopeful 
of  mercy  from  her,  because  she  can't  think  evil, 
but  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  my  heart  and  say  that 
I  wasn't  selfish  in  my  hopes.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
it  was  her  due  to  understand  that  a  man  whom  she 
had  allowed  to  be  her  friend  wasn't  altogether  un 
worthy.  That's  as  near  as  I  can  come  to  putting 
into  words  the  motive  I  had  in  writing  to  her.  I 
can't  even  begin  to  put  into  words  the  feeling  I  have 
towards  her.  It's  as  if  she  was  something  sacred." 

This  was  the  feeling  Kenton  himself  had  towards 
his  daughter,  and  for  the  first  time  he  found  himself 


THE   KENTONS  51 

on  common  ground  with  the  scapegrace  who  pro 
fessed  it,  and  whose  light,  mocking  face  so  little 
enforced  his  profession.  If  Bittridge  could  have 
spoken  in  the  dark,  his  words  might  have  carried 
a  conviction  of  his  sincerity,  but  there,  in  plain 
day,  confronting  the  father  of  Ellen,  who  had  every 
wish  to  believe  him  true,  the  effect  was  different. 
Deep  within  his  wish  to  think  the  man  honest, 
Kenton  recoiled  from  him.  He  vaguely  perceived 
that  it  was  because  she  could  not  think  evil  that 
this  wretch  had  power  upon  her,  and  he  was  sensi 
ble,  as  he  had  not  been  before,  that  she  had  no 
safety  from  him  except  in  absence.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  answer;  he  could  not  repel  him  in 
open  terms,  and  still  less  could  he  meet  him  with 
any  words  that  would  allow  him  to  resume  his 
former  relations  with  his  family.  He  said,  finally: 
"  We  will  let  matters  stand.  We  are  going  to  Eu 
rope  in  a  week,  and  I  shall  not  see  you  again.  I  will 
tell  Mrs.  Kenton  what  you  say." 

"Thank  you,  judge.  And  tell  her  that  I  ap 
preciate  your  kindness  more  than  I  can  say."  The 
judge  rose  from  his  chair  and  went  towards  the 
window,  which  he  had  thrown  open.  "  Going  to 
shut  up?  Let  me  help  you  with  that  window;  it 
seems  to  stick.  Everything  fast  up-stairs?" 

"I— I  think  so,"  Kenton  hesitated. 

"I'll  just  run  up  and  look,"  said  Bittridge,  and 
he  took  the  stairs  two  at  a  time,  before  Kenton 
could  protest,  when  they  came  out  into  the  hall 
together.  "  It's  all  right,"  he  reported  on  his  quick 


52  THE   KENTONS 

return.  "Ill  just  look  round  below  here,"  and  he 
explored  the  ground-floor  rooms  in  turn.  "  No,  you 
hadn't  opened  any  other  window,"  he  said,  glancing 
finally  into  the  library.  "  Shall  I  leave  this  paper 
011  your  table?" 

"  Yes,  leave  it  there,"  said  Kenton,  helplessly, 
and  he  let  Bittridge  close  the  front  door  after 
him,  and  lock  it. 

"  I  hope  Miss  Lottie  is  well,"  he  suggested  in 
handing  the  key  to  Kenton.  "  And  Boyne  ?"  he 
added,  with  the  cordiality  of  an  old  family  friend. 
"  I  hope  Boyne  has  got  reconciled  to  New  York  a 
little.  He  was  rather  anxious  about  his  pigeons 
when  he  left,  I  understand.  But  I  guess  Dick's 
man  has  looked  after  them.  I'd  have  offered  to 
take  charge  of  the  cocoons  myself  if  I'd  had  a 
chance."  He  walked,  gayly  chatting,  across  the 
intervening  lawn  with  Kenton  to  his  son's  door, 
where  at  sight  of  him  Mrs.  Kichard  Kenton  eva 
nesced  into  the  interior  so  obviously  that  Bittridge 
could  not  offer  to  come  in.  "Well,  I  shall  see 
you  all  when  you  come  back  in  the  fall,  judge,  and 
I  hope  you'll  have  a  pleasant  voyage  and  a  good 
time  in  Europe." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Kenton,  briefly. 

"  Eemember  me  to  the  ladies !"  and  Bittridge  took 
off  his  hat  with  his  left  hand,  while  he  offered  the 
judge  his  right.  "  Well,  good-bye !" 

Kenton  made  what  response  he  could,  and  escaped 
in-doors,  where  his  daughter-in-law  appeared  from 
the  obscurity  into  which  she  had  retired  from  Bit- 


THE   KENTONS  53 

tridge.  "Well,  that  fellow  does  beat  all!  How  in 
the  world  did  he  find  you,  father  ?" 

"He  came  into  the  house,"  said  the  judge, 
much  abashed  at  his  failure  to  deal  adequate 
ly  with  Bittridge.  He  felt  it  the  more  in  the 
presence  of  his  son's  wife,  "I  couldn't  seem 
to  get  rid  of  him  in  any  way  short  of  kicking 
him  out." 

"No,  there's  nothing  equal  to  his  impudence.  I 
do  believe  he  would  have  come  in  here,  if  he  hadn't 
seen  me  first.  Did  you  tell  him  when  you  were 
going  back,  father?  Because  he'd  be  at  the  train 
to  see  you  off,  just  as  sure !" 

"  No,  I  didn't  tell  him,"  said  Kenton,  feeling 
more  shaken  now  from  the  interview  with  Bittridge 
than  he  had  realized  before.  He  was  ashamed  to  let 
Mary  know  that  he  had  listened  to  Bittridge's  jus 
tification,  which  he  now  perceived  was  none,  and 
he  would  have  liked  to  pretend  that  he  had  not 
silently  condoned  his  offences,  but  Mary  did  not 
drive  him  to  these  deceptions  by  any  further  al 
lusions  to  Bittridge. 

"Well,  now,  you  must  go  into  the  sitting-room 
and  lie  down  on  the  lounge;  I  promised  Dick  to 
make  you.  Or  would  you  rather  go  up-stairs  to 
your  room?" 

"  I  think  I'll  go  to  my  room,"  said  Kenton. 

He  was  asleep  there  on  the  bed  when  Richard 
came  home  to  dinner  and  looked  softly  in.  He 
decided  not  to  wake  him,  and  Mary  said  the  sleep 
would  do  him  more  good  than  the  dinner.  At  table 


54  THE   KENTONS 

they  talked  him  over,  and  she  told  her  husband  what 
she  knew  of  the  morning's  adventure. 

"That  was  pretty  tough  for  father,"  said  Rich- 
ard.  "  I  wouldn't  go  into  the  house  with  him,  be 
cause  I  knew  he  wanted  to  have  it  to  himself;  and 
then  to  think  of  that  dirty  hound  skulking  in! 
Well,  perhaps  it's  for  the  best.  It  will  make  it 
easier  for  father  to  go  and  leave  the  place,  and 
they've  got  to  go.  They've  got  to  put  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  between  Ellen  and  that  fellow." 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  something  might  be  done," 
his  wife  rebelled. 

"  They've  done  the  best  that  could  be  done,"  said 
Richard.  "  And  if  that  skunk  hasn't  got  some  sort 
of  new  hold  upon  father,  I  shall  be  satisfied.  The 
worst  of  it  is  that  it  will  be  all  over  town  in  an 
hour  that  Bittridge  has  made  up  with  us.  I  don't 
blame  father;  he  couldn't  help  it;  he  never  could 
be  rude  to  anybody." 

"  I  think  I'll  try  if  7  can't  be  rude  to  Mr.  Bit 
tridge,  if  he  ever  undertakes  to  show  in  my  presence 
that  he  has  made  it  up  with  us"  said  Mary. 

Richard  tenderly  found  out  from  his  father's 
shamefaced  reluctance,  later,  that  no  great  mischief 
had  been  done.  But  no  precaution  on  his  part  avail 
ed  to  keep  Bittridge  from  demonstrating  the  good 
feeling  between  himself  and  the  Kentons  when  the 
judge  started  for  New  York  the  next  afternoon. 
He  was  there  waiting  to  see  him  off,  and  he  all 
but  took  the  adieux  out  of  Richard's  hands.  He 
got  possession  of  the  judge's  valise,  and  pressed  past 


THE   KENTONS  55 

the  porter  into  the  sleeping-car  with  it,  and  remain 
ed  lounging  on  the  arm  of  the  judge's  seat,  making 
conversation  with  him  and  Richard  till  the  train 
began  to  move.  Then  he  ran  outside,  and  waved 
his  hand  to  the  judge's  window  in  farewell,  before 
all  that  leisure  of  Tuskingum  which  haunted  the 
arrival  and  departure  of  the  trains. 

Mary  Kenton  was  furious  when  her  husband  came 
home  and  reported  the  fact  to  her. 

"  How  in  the  world  did  he  find  out  when  father 
was  going?" 

"He  must  have  come  to  all  the  through  trains 
since  he  say  him  yesterday.  But  I  think  even  you 
would  have  been  suited,  Mary,  if  you  had  seen  his 
failure  to  walk  off  from  the  depot  arm-in-arm  with 
me." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  been  suited  with  anything  short 
of  your  knocking  him  down,  Dick." 

"  Oh,  that  wouldn't  have  done,"  said  Richard. 
After  a  while  he  added,  patiently,  "  Ellen  is  making 
a  good  deal  of  trouble  for  us." 

That  was  what  Mary  was  thinking  herself,  and 
it  was  what  she  might  have  said,  but  since  Dick 
had  said  it  she  was  obliged  to  protest.  "  She  isn't 
to  blame  for  it." 

"  Oh,  I  know  she  isn't  to  blame." 


The  father  of  the  unhappy  girl  was  of  the  same 
mixed  mind  as  he  rode  sleeplessly  back  to  New  York 
in  his  berth,  and  heard  the  noises  of  slumber  all 
round  him.  From  time  to  time  he  groaned  softly,  and 
turned  from  one  cheek  to  the  other.  Every  half- 
hour  or  so  he  let  his  window-curtain  fly  up,  and 
lay  watching  the  landscape  fleeting  past;  and  then 
he  pulled  the  curtain  down  again  and  tried  to 
sleep.  After  passing  Albany  he  dozed,  but  at  Pough- 
keepsie  a  zealous  porter  called  him  by  mistake,  and 
the  rest  of  the  way  to  New  York  he  sat  up  in  the 
smoking-room.  It  seemed  a  long  while  since  he  had 
drowsed;  the  thin  nap  had  not  rested  him,  and  the 
old  face  that  showed  itself  in  the  glass,  with  the 
frost  of  a  two  days'  beard  on  it,  was  dry-eyed  and 
limply  squared  by  the  fall  of  the  muscles  at  the 
corners  of  the  chin. 

He  wondered  how  he  should  justify  to  his  wife 
the  thing  which  he  felt  as  accountable  for  having 
happened  to  him  as  if  he  could  have  prevented  it. 
It  would  not  have  happened,  of  course,  if  he  had 
not  gone  to  Tuskingum,  and  she  could  say  that  to 
him;  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  his  going,  which 
had  been  so  imperative  before  he  went,  was  al- 


THE  KENTONS  57 

together  needless.  Nothing  but  harm  had  come  of 
it,  and  it  had  been  a  selfish  indulgence  of  a  culpable 
weakness. 

It  was  a  little  better  for  Kenton  when  he  found 
himself  with  his  family,  and  they  went  down  to 
gether  to  the  breakfast  which  the  mother  had  en 
gaged  the  younger  children  to  make  as  pleasant 
as  they  could  for  their  father,  and  not  worry 
him  with  talk  about  Tuskingum.  They  had,  in  fact, 
got  over  their  first  season  of  homesickness,  and  were 
postponing  their  longing  for  Tuskingum  till  their 
return  from  Europe,  when  they  would  all  go  straight 
out  there.  Kenton  ran  the  gantlet  of  welcome 
from  the  black  elevator-boys  and  bell-boys  and  the 
head-waiter,  who  went  before  him  to  pull  out  the 
judge's  chair,  with  commanding  frowns  to  his  un 
derlings  to  do  the  like  for  the  rest  of  the  family; 
and  as  his  own  clumsy  Irish  waiter  stood  behind 
his  chair,  breathing  heavily  upon  the  judge's  head, 
he  gave  his  order  for  breakfast,  with  a  curious 
sense  of  having  got  home  again  from  some  strange 
place.  He  satisfied  Boyne  that  his  pigeons  and 
poultry  had  been  well  cared  for  through  the  winter, 
and  he  told  Lottie  that  he  had  not  met  much  of 
anybody  except  Dick's  family,  before  he  recollected 
seeing  half  a  dozen  of  her  young  men  at  different 
times.  She  was  not  very  exacting  about  them,  and 
her  mind  seemed  set  upon  Europe,  or  at  least  she 
talked  of  nothing  else.  Ellen  was  quiet  as  she  al 
ways  was,  but  she  smiled  gently  on  her  father,  and 
Mrs.  Kenton  told  him  of  the  girl's  preparations  for 


58  THE  KENTONS 

going,  and  congratulated  herself  on  their  wisdom 
in  having  postponed  their  sailing,  in  view  of  all 
they  had  to  do;  and  she  made  Kenton  feel  that 
everything  was  in  the  best  possible  shape.  As  soon 
as  she  got  him  alone  in  their  own  room,  she  said, 
"  Well,  what  is  it,  poppa?" 

Then  he  had  to  tell  her,  and  she  listened  with 
ominous  gravity.  She  did  not  say  that  now  he  could 
see  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  if  he 
had  not  gone,  but  she  made  him  say  it  for  her; 
and  she  would  not  let  him  take  comfort  in  the 
notion  of  keeping  the  fact  of  his  interview  with  Bit- 
tridge  from  Ellen.  "It  would  be  worse  than  use 
less.  He  will  write  to  her  about  it,  and  then  she 
will  know  that  we  have  been,  concealing  it." 

Kenton  was  astonished  at  himself  for  not  having 
thought  of  that.  "And  what  are  you  going  to 
do,  Sarah?" 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  her,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton. 

"  Why  didn't  poppa  tell  me  before  ?"  the  girl  per 
versely  demanded,  as  soon  as  her  mother  had  done  so. 

"  Ellen,  you  are  a  naughty  child !  I  have  a  great 
mind  not  to  have  a  word  more  to  say  to  you.  Your 
father  hasn't  been  in  the  house  an  hour.  Did  you 
want  him  to  speak  before  Lottie  and  Boyne?" 

"  I  don't  see  why  he  didn't  tell  me  himself.  I 
know  there  is  something  you  are  keeping  back.  I 
know  there  is  some  word — " 

"  Oh,  you  poor  girl !"  said  her  mother,  melting 
into  pity  against  all  sense  of  duty.  "Have  we  ever 
tried  to  deceive  you?" 


THE   KENTON S  59 

"  No,"  Ellen  sobbed,  with  her  face  in  .her  hands. 

"  Now  I  will  tell  you  every  word  that  passed," 
said  Mrs.  "Kenton,  and  she  told,  as  well  as  she  could 
remember,  all  that  the  judge  had  repeated  from  Bit- 
tridge.  "  I  don't  say  he  isn't  ashamed  of  himself," 
she  commented  at  the  end.  "  He  ought  to  be,  and, 
of  course,  he  would  be  glad  to  be  in  with  us  again 
when  we  go  back;  but  that  doesn't  alter  his  charac 
ter,  Ellen.  Still,  if  you  can't  see  that  yourself,  I 
don't  want  to  make  you,  and  if  you  would  rather 
go  home  to  Tuskingum,  we  will  give  up  the  trip 
to  Europe." 

"It's  too  late  to  do  that  now,"  said  the  girl, 
in  cruel  reproach. 

Her  mother  closed  her  lips  resolutely  till  she 
could  say,  "  Or  you  can  write  to  him  if  you  want 
to." 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Ellen,  and  she  dragged 
herself  up  out  of  her  chair,  and  trailed  slowly  out 
of  the  room  without  looking  at  her  mother. 

"  Well  ?"  the  judge  asked,  impatiently,  when  he 
came  in  as  soon  after  this  as  he  decently  could. 
They  observed  forms  with  regard  to  talking  about 
Ellen  which,  after  all,  were  rather  for  them 
selves  than  for  her;  Mrs.  Kenton,  at  least,  knew 
that  the  girl  knew  when  they  were  talking  about 
her. 

"  She  took  it  as  well  as  I  expected." 

"  What  is  she  going  to  do  ?" 

"  She  didn't  say.  But  I  don't  believe  she  will  do 
anything." 


60  THE  KENTONS 

"  I  wish  I  had  taken  our  tickets  for  next  Satur 
day,"  said  Kenton. 

"  Well,  we  must  wait  now,"  said  his  wife.  "  If 
he  doesn't  write  to  her,  she  won't  write  to  him." 

"  Has  she  ever  answered  that  letter  of  his  ?" 

"  No,  and  I  don't  believe  she  will  now." 

That  night  Ellen  came  to  her  mother  and  said 
she  need  not  be  afraid  of  her  writing  to  Bittridge. 
"He  hasn't  changed,  if  he  was  wrong,  by  coming 
and  saying  those  things  to  poppa,  and  nothing  has 
changed." 

"That  is  the  way  I  hoped  you  would  see  it, 
Ellen."  Her  mother  looked  wistfully  at  her,  but 
the  girl  left  her  without  letting  her  satisfy  the 
longing  in  the  mother's  heart  to  put  her  arms  round 
her  child,  and  pull  her  head  down  upon  her  breast 
for  a  cry. 

Kenton  slept  better  that  night  than  his  wife,  who 
was  kept  awake  by  a  formless  foreboding.  For  the 
week  that  followed  she  had  the  sense  of  literally 
pushing  the  hours  away,  so  that  at  times  she  found 
herself  breathless,  as  if  from  some  heavy  physical 
exertion.  At  such  times  she  was  frantic  with  the 
wish  to  have  the  days  gone,  and  the  day  of  their 
sailing  come,  but  she  kept  her  impatience  from  her 
husband  and  children,  and  especially  from  Ellen. 
The  girl  was  passive  enough ;  she  was  almost  willing, 
and  in  the  preparation  for  their  voyage  she  did 
her  share  of  the  shopping,  and  discussed  the  difficult 
points  of  this  business  with  her  mother  and  sister 
as  if  she  had  really  been  thinking  about  it  all.  But 


THE  KENTONS  61 

her  mother  doubted  if  she  had,  and  made  more 
of  Ellen's  sunken  eyes  and  thin  face  than  of  her 
intelligent  and  attentive  words.  It  was  these  that 
she  reported  to  her  husband,  whom  she  kept  from 
talking  with  Ellen,  and  otherwise  quelled. 

"  Let  her  alone,"  she  insisted,  one  morning  of  the 
last  week.  "  What  can  you  do  by  speaking  to  her 
about  it  ?  Don't  you  see  that  she  is  making  the  best 
fight  she  can  ?  You  will  weaken  her  if  you  interfere. 
It's  less  than  a  week  now,  and  if  you  can  only 
hold  out,  I  know  she  can." 

Kenton  groaned.  "Well,  I  suppose  you're  right, 
Sarah.  But  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  forcing  her  to 
go,  unless — " 

"  Then  you  had  better  write  to  that  fellow,  and  ask 
him  to  come  and  get  her." 

This  shut  Kenton's  mouth,  and  he  kept  on  with 
his  shaving.  When  he  had  finished  he  felt  fresher, 
if  not  stronger,  and  he  went  down  to  breakfast, 
which  he  had  alone,  not  only  with  reference  to  his 
cwn  family,  but  all  the  other  guests  of  the  hotel. 
He  was  always  so  early  that  sometimes  the  dining- 
room  was  not  open;  when  this  happened,  he  used 
to  go  and  buy  a  newspaper  at  the  clerk's  desk,  for 
it  was  too  early  then  for  the  news-stand  to  be  open. 
It  happened  so  that  morning,  and  he  got  his  paper 
without  noticing  the  young  man  who  was  writing  his 
name  in  the  hotel  register,  but  who  looked  briskly 
up  when  the  clerk  bade  Kenton  good-morning  by 
name. 

"Why,  judge!"  he  said,  and  he  put  out  a  hand 


fl2  THE  KENTONS 

which  Kenton  took  with  trembling  reluctance  and 
a  dazed  stare.  "I  thought  you  sailed  last  Satur 
day!" 

"We  sail  next  Saturday,"  said  Kenton. 

"Well,  well!  Then  I  misunderstood,"  said  Bit- 
tridge,  and  he  added :  "  Why,  this  is  money  found 
in  the  road!  How  are  all  the  family?  I've  got 
my  mother  here  with  me ;  brought  her  on  for  a  kind 
of  a  little  outing.  She'll  be  the  most  surprised  wom 
an  in  New  York  when  I  tell  her  you're  here  yet. 
We  came  to  this  hotel  because  we  knew  you  had 
been  here,  but  we  didn't  suppose  you  were  here! 
Well!  This  is  too  good!  I  saw  Dick,  Friday,  but 
he  didn't  say  anything  about  your  sailing;  I  sup 
pose  he  thought  I  knew.  Didn't  you  tell  me  you 
were  going  in  a  week,  that  day  in  your  house?" 

"Perhaps  I  did,"  Kenton  faltered  out,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Bittridge's  with  a  helpless  fascination. 

"  Well,  it  don't  matter  so  long  as  you're  here. 
Mother's  in  the  parlor  waiting  for  me;  I  won't  risk 
taking  you  to  her  now,  judge — right  off  the  train, 
you  know.  But  I  want  to  bring  her  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Kenton  as  soon  after  breakfast  as  you'll  let  me. 
She  just  idolizes  Mrs.  Kenton,  from  what  I've  told 
her  about  her.  Our  rooms  ready?"  He  turned  to 
the  clerk,  and  the  clerk  called  "  Front !"  to  a  bell 
boy,  who  ran  up  and  took  Bittridge's  hand-baggage, 
and  stood  waiting  to  follow  him  into  the  parlor. 
"  Well,  you  must  excuse  me  now,  judge.  So  long !" 
he  said,  gayly,  and  Kenton  crept  feebly  away  to  the 
dining-room. 


THE  KENTONS  63 

He  must  have  eaten  breakfast,  but  he  was  not 
aware  of  doing  so;  and  the  events  of  his  leaving 
the  table  and  going  up  in  the  elevator  and  finding 
himself  in  his  wife's  presence  did  not  present  them 
selves  consecutively,  though  they  must  all  have 
successively  occurred.  It  did  not  seem  to  him  that 
he  could  tell  what  he  knew,  but  he  found  himself 
doing  it,  and  her  hearing  it  with  strange  quiet. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said.  "  I  must  tell  Ellen,  and, 
if  she  wishes,  we  must  stay  in  and  wait  for  their 
call." 

"  Yes,"  the  judge  mechanically  consented. 

It  was  painful  for  Mrs.  Kenton  to  see  how  the 
girl  flushed  when  she  announced  the  fact  of  Bit- 
tridge's  presence,  for  she  knew  what  a  strife  of 
hope  and  shame  and  pride  there  was  in  Ellen's  heart. 
At  first  she  said  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see  him, 
and  then  when  Mrs.  Kenton  would  not  say  whether 
she  had  better  see  him  or  not,  she  added,  vaguely, 
"  If  he  has  brought  his  mother — " 

"  I  think  we  must  see  them,  Ellen.  You  wouldn't 
wish  to  think  you  had  been  unkind;  and  he  might 
be  hurt  on  his  mother's  account.  He  seems  really 
fond  of  her,  and  perhaps — " 

"No,  there  isn't  any  perhaps,  momma,"  said  the 
girl,  gratefully.  "But  I  think  we  had  better  see 
them,  too.  I  think  we  had  better  all  see  them." 

"Just  as  you  please,  Ellen.  If  you  prefer  to 
meet  them  alone — " 

"I  don't  prefer  that.  I  want  poppa  to  be  there, 
and  Lottie  and  Boyne  even." 


64  THE  KENTONS 

Boyne  objected  when  he  was  told  that  his  pres 
ence  was  requested  at  this  family  rite,  and  he  would 
have  excused  himself  if  the  invitation  had  been 
of  the  form  that  one  might  decline.  "  What  do  I 
want  to  see  him  for  ?"  he  puffed.  "  He  never  cared 
anything  about  me  in  Tuskingum.  What's  he  want 
here,  anyway?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  come  in,  my  son,"  said  his  mother, 
and  that  ended  it. 

Lottie  was  not  so  tractable.  "  Very  well,  momma," 
she  said.  "  But  don't  expect  me  to  speak  to  him. 
I  have  some  little  self-respect,  if  the  rest  of  you 
haven't.  Am  I  going  to  shake  hands  with  him? 
I  never  took  the  least  notice  of  him  at  home,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  here." 

Bittridge  decided  the  question  of  hand-shaking 
for  her  when  they  met.  He  greeted  her  glooming 
brother  with  a  jolly  "Hello,  Boyne!"  and  without 
waiting  for  the  boy's  tardy  response  he  said  "  Hello, 
Lottie!"  to  the  girl,  and  took  her  hand  and  kept 
it  in  his  while  he  made  an  elaborate  compliment  to 
her  good  looks  and  her  gain  in  weight.  She  had 
come  tardily  as  a  proof  that  she  would  not  have 
come  in  at  all  if  she  had  not  chosen  to  do  so,  and 
Mrs.  Bittridge  was  already  seated  beside  Ellen 
on  the  sofa,  holding  her  hand,  and  trying  to  keep 
her  mobile,  inattentive  eyes  upon  Ellen's  face.  She 
was  a  little  woman,  youthfully  dressed,  but  not 
dressed  youthfully  enough  for  the  dry,  yellow  hair 
which  curled  tightly  in  small  rings  on  her  skull, 
like  the  wig  of  a  rag-doll.  Her  restless  eyes  were 


THE   KENTONS  65 

round  and  deep-set,  with  the  lids  flung  up  out  of 
sight ;  she  had  a  lax,  formless  mouth,  and  an  anxious 
sniile,  with  which  she  constantly  watched  her  son 
for  his  initiative,  while  she  recollected  herself  from 
time  to  time,  long  enough  to  smooth  Ellen's  hand 
between  her  own,  and  say,  "  Oh,  I  just  think  the 
world  of  Clarence ;  and  I  guess  he  thinks  his  mother 
is  about  right,  too,"  and  then  did  not  heed  what 
Ellen  answered. 

The  girl  said  very  little,  and  it  was  Bittridge 
who  talked  for  all,  dominating  the  room  with  a 
large,  satisfied  presence,  in  which  the  judge  sat 
withdrawn,  his  forehead  supported  on  his  hand,  and 
his  elbow  on  the  table.  Mrs.  Kenton  held  herself 
upright,  with  her  hands  crossed  before  her,  steal 
ing  a  look  now  and  then  at  her  daughter's  averted 
face,  but  keeping  her  eyes  from  Mrs.  Bittridge,  who, 
whenever  she  caught  Mrs.  Kenton's  glance,  said 
something  to  her  about  her  Clarence,  and  how 
he  used  to  write  home  to  her  at  Ballardsville  about 
the  Kentons,  so  that  she  felt  acquainted  with  all  of 
them.  Her  reminiscences  were  perfunctory;  Mrs. 
Bittridge  had  voluntarily  but  one  topic,  and  that 
was  herself,  either  as  she  was  included  in  the  in 
terest  her  son  must  inspire,  or  as  she  included  him 
in  the  interest  she  must  inspire.  She  said  that, 
now  they  had  met  at  last,  she  was  not  going  to 
rest  till  the  Kentons  had  been  over  to  Ballardsville, 
and  made  her  a  good,  long  visit;  her  son  had  some 
difficulty  in  making  her  realize  that  the  Kentona 
were  going  to  Europe.  Then  she  laughed,  and 


66  THE  KENTONS 

said  she  kept  forgetting;  and  she  did  wish  they  were 
all  coming  back  to  Tuskingum. 

If  it  is  a  merit  to  treat  a  fatuous  mother  with 
deference,  Bittridge  had  that  merit.  His  deference 
was  of  the  caressing  and  laughing  sort,  which 
took  the  spectator  into  the  joke  of  her  peculiarities 
as  something  they  would  appreciate  and  enjoy  with 
him.  She  had  been  a  kittenish  and  petted  person 
in  her  youth,  perhaps,  and  now  she  petted  herself, 
after  she  had  long  ceased  to  be  a  kitten.  What 
was  respectable  and  what  was  pathetic  in  her  was 
her  wish  to  promote  her  son's  fortunes  with  the 
Kentons,  but  she  tried  to  do  this  from  not  a  very 
clear  understanding  of  her  part,  apparently,  and 
little  sense  of  the  means.  For  Ellen's  sake,  rather 
than  hers,  the  father  and  mother  received  her  over 
tures  to  their  liking  kindly;  they  answered  her  pa 
tiently,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  even  tried  to  lead  the 
way  for  her  to  show  herself  at  her  best,  by  talking 
of  her  journey  on  to  New  York,  and  of  the  city,  and 
what  she  would  see  there  to  interest  her.  Lottie 
and  Boyne,  sternly  aloof  together  in  one  of  their 
momentary  alliances,  listened  to  her  replies  with  a 
silent  contempt  that  almost  included  their  mother; 
Kenton  bore  with  the  woman  humbly  and  sadly. 

He  was,  in  fact,  rather  bewildered  with  the  situ 
ation,  for  which  he  felt  himself  remotely  if  not 
immediately  responsible.  Bittridge  was  there  among 
them  not  only  on  good  terms,  but  apparently  in  the 
character  of  a  more  than  tolerated  pretendant  to 
Ellen's  favor.  There  were  passages  of  time  in  which 


THE  KENTONS  67 

the  father  was  not  sure  that  the  fellow  was  not 
engaged  to  his  daughter,  though  when  these 
instants  were  gone  he  was  aware  that  there  had 
been  no  overt  love-making  between  them  and  Bit- 
tridge  had  never  offered  himself.  What  was  he 
doing  there,  then?  The  judge  asked  himself  that, 
without  being  able  to  answer  himself.  So  far  as 
he  could  make  out,  his  wife  and  he  were  letting 
him  see  Ellen,  and  show  her  off  to  his  mother,  main 
ly  to  disgust  her  with  them  both,  and  because  they 
were  afraid  that  if  they  denied  her  to  him,  it  would 
be  the  worse  for  them  through  her  suffering.  The 
judge  was  not  accustomed  to  apply  the  tests  by 
which  people  are  found  vulgar  or  not;  these  were 
not  of  his  simple  world;  all  that  he  felt  about  Mrs. 
Bittridge  was  that  she  was  a  very  foolish,  false 
person,  who  was  true  in  nothing  but  her  admiration 
of  her  rascal  of  a  son ;  he  did  not  think  of  Bittridge 
as  a  rascal  violently,  but  helplessly,  and  with  a  heart 
that  melted  in  pity  for  Ellen. 

He  longed  to  have  these  people  gone,  not  so  much 
because  he  was  so  unhappy  in  their  presence  as  be 
cause  he  wished  to  learn  Ellen's  feeling  about  them 
from  his  wife.  She  would  know,  whether  Ellen 
said  anything  to  her  or  not.  But  perhaps  if  Mrs. 
Kenton  had  been  asked  to  deliver  her  mind  on  this 
point  at  once  she  would  have  been  a  little  puzzled. 
All  that  she  could  see,  and  she  saw  it  with  a  sinking 
of  the  heart,  was  that  Ellen  looked  more  at  peace 
than  she  had  been  since  Bittridge  was  last  in  their 
house  at  Tuskingum.  Her  eyes  covertly  followed 


6g  THE  KENTONS 

him  as  he  sat  talking,  or  went  about  the  room,  mak 
ing  himself  at  home  among  them,  as  if  he  were 
welcome  with  every  one.  He  joked  her  more  than 
the  rest,  and  accused  her  of  having  become  a  regu 
lar  New-Yorker;  he  said  he  supposed  that  when  she 
came  back  from  Europe  she  would  not  know  any 
body  in  Tuskingum;  and  his  mother,  playing  with 
Ellen's  fingers,  as  if  they  had  been  the  fringe  of  a 
tassel,  declared  that  she  must  not  mind  him,  for  he 
carried  on  just  so  with  everybody;  at  the  same  time 
she  ordered  him  to  stop,  or  she  would  go  right  out 
of  the  room. 

She  gave  no  other  sign  of  going,  and  it  was  her 
son  who  had  to  make  the  movement  for  her  at  last; 
she  apparently  did  not  know  that  it  was  her  part 
to  make  it.  She  said  that  now  the  Kentons  must 
come  and  return  her  call,  and  be  real  neighborly, 
just  the  same  as  if  they  were  all  at  home  together. 
When  her  son  shook  hands  with  every  one  she 
did  so  too,  and  she  said  to  each,  "Well,  I  wish 
you  good  •  morning,"  and  let  him  push  her  be 
fore  him,  in  high  delight  with  the  joke,  out  of  the 
room. 

When  they  were  gone  the  Kentons  sat  silent,  Ellen 
with  a  rapt  smile  on  her  thin,  flushed  face,  till  Lot 
tie  said,  "You  forgot  to  ask  him  if  we  might 
"breathe,  poppa,"  and  paced  out  of  the  room  in 
stately  scorn,  followed  by  Boyne,  who  had  apparent 
ly  no  words  at  the  command  of  his  dumb  rage. 
Kenton  wished  to  remain,  and  he  looked  at  his  wife 
for  instruction.  She  frowned,  and  he  took  this 


THE  KENTONS  69 

for  a  sign  that  he  had  better  go,  and  he  went  with  a 
light  sigh. 

He  did  not  know  what  else  to  do  with  himself, 
and  he  went  down  to  the  reading-room.  He  found 
Bittridge  there,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  the  young 
man  companionably  offered  to  bestow  one  upon  him; 
but  the  judge  stiffly  refused,  saying  he  did  not 
wish  to  smoke  just  then.  He  noted  that  Bit 
tridge  was  still  in  his  character  of  family  fa 
vorite,  and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  passed  it 
over  the  smooth  knob  of  his  stick,  while  he  sat 
waiting  for  the  fellow  to  take  himself  away. 
But  Bittridge  had  apparently  no  thought  of  going. 
He  was  looking  at  the  amusements  for  the  evening 
in  a  paper  he  had  bought,  and  he  wished  to  consult 
the  judge  as  to  which  was  the  best  theatre  to  go 
to  that  night;  he  said  he  wanted  to  take  his  mother. 
Kenton  professed  not  to  know  much  about  the  New 
York  theatres,  and  then  Bittridge  guessed  he  must 
get  the  clerk  to  tell  him.  But  still  he  did  not  part 
with  the  judge.  He  sat  down  beside  him,  and  told 
him  how  glad  he  was  to  see  his  family  looking  so 
well,  especially  Miss  Ellen;  he  could  not  remem 
ber  ever  seeing  her  so  strong  -  looking.  He  said 
that  girl  had  captured  his  mother,  who  was  in 
love  with  pretty  much  the  whole  Kenton  family, 
though. 

"  And  by-the-way,"  he  added,  "  I  want  to  thank 
you  and  Mrs.  Kenton,  judge,  for  the  way  you  re 
ceived  my  mother.  You  made  her  feel  that  she  was 
among  friends.  She  can't  talk  about  anything  else, 


70  THE  KENTONS 

and  I  guess  I  sha'n't  have  much  trouble  in  making 
her  stay  in  New  York  as  long  as  you're  here.  She 
was  inclined  to  be  homesick.  The  fact  is,  though 
I  don't  care  to  have  it  talked  about  yet,  and  I  wish 
you  wouldn't  say  anything  to  Dick  about  it  when 
you  write  home,  I  think  of  settling  in  New  York. 
I've  been  offered  a  show  in  the  advertising  depart 
ment  of  one  of  the  big  dailies — I'm  not  at  liberty 
to  say  which — and  it's  a  toss-up  whether  I  stay  here 
or  go  to  Washington;  I've  got  a  chance  there,  too, 
but  it's  on  the  staff  of  a  new  enterprise,  and  I'm  not 
sure  about  it.  I've  brought  my  mother  along  to 
let  her  have  a  look  at  both  places,  though  she  doesn't 
know  it,  and  I'd  rather  you  wouldn't  speak  of  it 
before  her;  I'm  going  to  take  her  on  to  Washington 
before  we  go  back.  I  want  to  have  my  mother  with 
me,  judge.  It's  better  for  a  fellow  to  have  that 
home-feeling  in  a  large  place  from  the  start ;  it  keeps 
him  out  of  a  lot  of  things,  and  I  don't  pretend 
to  be  better  than  other  people,  or  not  more  super 
human.  If  I've  been  able  to  keep  out  of  scrapes, 
it's  more  because  I've  had  my  mother  near  me, 
and  I  don't  intend  ever  to  be  separated  from  her, 
after  this,  till  I  have  a  home  of  my  own.  She's 
been  the  guiding-star  of  my  life." 

Kenton  was  unable  to  make  any  formal  response, 
and,  in  fact,  he  was  so  preoccupied  with  the  question 
whether  the  fellow  was  more  a  fool  or  a  fraud  that 
he  made  no  answer  at  all,  beyond  a  few  inarticulate 
grumblings  of  assent.  These  sufficed  for  Bittridge, 
apparently,  for  he  went  on  contentedly :  "  When- 


THE  KENTONS  fa 

ever  I've  been  tempted  to  go  a  little  wild,  the 
thought  of  how  mother  would  feel  has  kept  me  on 
the  track  like  nothing  else  would.  No,  judge,  there 
isn't  anything  in  this  world  like  a  good  mother, 
except  the  right  kind  of  a  wife." 

Kenton  rose,  and  said  he  believed  he  must  go  up 
stairs.  Bittridge  said,  "  All  right;  I'll  see  you  later, 
judge,"  and  swung  easily  off  to  advise  with  the 
clerk  as  to  the  best  theatre. 


VI 


KENTON  was  so  unhappy  that  he  could  not  wait 
for  his  wife  to  come  to  him  in  their  own  room;  he 
broke  in  upon  her  and  Ellen  in  the  parlor,  and  at 
his  coming  the  girl  flitted  out,  in  the  noiseless 
fashion  which  of  late  had  made  her  father  feel 
something  ghostlike  in  her.  He  was  afraid  she  was 
growing  to  dislike  him,  and  trying  to  avoid  him, 
and  now  he  presented  himself  quite  humbly  before 
his  wife,  as  if  he  had  done  wrong  in  coming.  He 
began  with  a  sort  of  apology  for  interrupting,  but 
his  wife  said  it  was  all  right,  and  she  added,  "We 
were  not  talking  about  anything  in  particular."  She 
was  silent,  and  then  she  added  again :  "  Sometimes 
I  think  Ellen  hasn't  very  fine  perceptions,  after 
all.  She  doesn't  seem  to  feel  about  people  as  I 
supposed  she  would." 

"You  mean  that  she  doesn't  feel  as  you  would 
suppose  about  those  people?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  answered,  obliquely.  "  She  thinks 
it's  a  beautiful  thing  in  him  to  be  so  devoted  to 
his  mother." 

"Humph!  And  what  does  she  think  of  his 
mother?" 

"  She  thinks  she  has  very  pretty  hair." 


THE  KENTONS  73 

Mrs.  Kenton  looked  gravely  down  at  the  work 
she  had  in  her  hands,  and  Kenton  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  it  all.  He  decided  that  his  wife 
must  feel,  as  he  did,  a  doubt  of  the  child's  sincerity, 
with  a  sense  of  her  evasiveness  more  tolerant  than 
his  own.  Yet  he  knew  that  if  it  came  to  a  question 
of  forcing  Ellen  to  do  what  was  best  for  her,  or 
forbidding  her  to  do  what  was  worst,  his  wife  would 
have  all  the  strength  for  the  work,  and  he  none. 
He  asked  her,  hopelessly  enough,  "Do  you  think 
she  still  cares  for  him?" 

"I  think  she  wishes  to  give  him  another  trial; 
I  hope  she  will."  Kenton  was  daunted,  and  he  show 
ed  it.  "  She  has  got  to  convince  herself,  and  we 
have  got  to  let  her.  She  believes,  of  course,  that 
he's  here  on  her  account,  and  that  flatters  her.  Why 
should  she  be  so  different  from  other  girls?"  Mrs. 
Kenton  demanded  of  the  angry  protest  in  her  hus 
band's  eye. 

His  spirit  fell,  and  he  said,  "  I  only  wish  she  were 
more  like  them." 

"  Well,  then,  she  is  just  as  headstrong  and  as 
silly,  when  it  comes  to  a  thing  like  this.  Our  only 
hope  is  to  let  her  have  her  own  way." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  cares  for  her,  after  all  ?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  was  silent,  as  if  in  exhaustive  self- 
question.  Then  she  answered :  "  No,  I  don't — in  that 
way.  But  he  believes  he  can  get  her." 

"  Then,  Sarah,  I  think  we  have  a  duty  to  the  poor 
child.  You  must  tell  her  what  you  have  told  me." 

Mrs.  Kenton  smiled  rather  bitterly,  in  recognition 


74  THE   KENTONS 

of  the  fact  that  the  performance  of  their  common 
duty  must  fall  wholly  to  her.  But  she  merely  said : 
"  There  is  no  need  of  my  telling  her.  She  knows 
it  already." 

"And  she  would  take  him  in  spite  of  knowing 
that  he  didn't  really  care  for  her  ?" 

"I  don't  say  that  She  wouldn't  own  it  to 
herself." 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Nothing.    We  must  let  things  take  their  course." 

They  had  a  great  deal  more  talk  that  came  to 
the  same  end.  They  played  their  sad  comedy,  he 
in  the  part  of  a  father  determined  to  save  his 
child  from  herself,  and  she  in  hers  of  resisting  and 
withholding  him.  It  ended  as  it  had  so  often  end 
ed  before — he  yielded,  with  more  faith  in  her  wis 
dom  than  she  had  herself. 

At  luncheon  the  Bittridges  could  not  join  the 
Kentons,  or  be  asked  to  do  so,  because  the  table  held 
only  four,  but  they  stopped  on  their  way  to  their 
own  table,  the  mother  to  bridle  and  toss  in  affected 
reluctance,  while  the  son  bragged  how  he  had  got 
the  last  two  tickets  to  be  had  that  night  for  the 
theatre  where  he  was  going  to  take  his  mother.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  the  fact  had  a  special  claim 
on  the  judge's  interest,  and  she  to  wish  to  find  out 
whether  Mrs.  Kenton  approved  of  theatre-going. 
She  said  she  would  not  think  of  going  in  Ballards- 
ville,  but  she  supposed  it  was  more  rulable  in  New 
York. 

During  the  afternoon  she  called  at  the  Kenton 


THE   KENTONS  75 

apartment  to  consult  the  ladies  about  what  she 
ought  to  wear.  She  said  she  had  nothing  but  a 
black  barege  along,  and  would  that  do  with  the 
hat  she  had  on?  She  had  worn  it  to  let  them  see, 
and  now  she  turned  her  face  from  side  to  side  to 
give  them  the  effect  of  the  plumes,  that  fell  like 
a  dishevelled  feather-duster  round  and  over  the 
crown.  Mrs.  Kenton  could  only  say  that  it  would 
do,  but  she  believed  that  it  was  the  custom  now 
for  ladies  to  take  their  hats  off  in  the  theatre. 

Mrs.  Bittridge  gave  a  hoarse  laugh.  "  Oh,  dear ! 
Then  I'll  have  to  fix  my  hair  two  ways!  I  don't 
know  what  Clarence  will  say." 

The  mention  of  her  son's  name  opened  the  way 
for  her  to  talk  of  him  in  relation  to  herself,  and 
the  rest  of  her  stay  passed  in  the  celebration  of 
his  filial  virtues,  which  had  been  manifest  from 
the  earliest  period.  She  could  not  remember  that 
she  ever  had  to  hit  the  child  a  lick,  she  said,  or 
that  he  had  ever  made  her  shed  a  tear. 

When  she  went,  Boyne  gloomily  inquired,  "  What 
makes  her  hair  so  much  darker  at  the  roots  than 
it  is  at  the  points?"  and  his  mother  snubbed  him 
promptly. 

"  You  had  no  business  to  be  here,  Boyne.  I  don't 
like  boys  hanging  about  where  ladies  are  talking 
together,  and  listening." 

This  did  not  prevent  Lottie  from  answering, 
directly  for  Boyne,  and  indirectly  for  Ellen,  "It's 
because  it's  begun  to  grow  since  the  last  bleach." 

It  was  easier  to  grapple  with  Boyne  than  with 


76  THE  KENTONS 

Lottie,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  was  willing  to  allow  her 
to  leave  the  room  with  her  brother  unrebuked.  She 
was  even  willing  to  have  had  the  veil  lifted  from 
Mrs.  Bittridge's  hair  with  a  rude  hand,  if  it  would 
help  Ellen. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  think,  momma,"  said  the 
girl,  "that  I  didn't  know  about  her  hair,  or  that 
I  don't  see  how  silly  she  is.  But  it's  all  the  more 
to  his  credit  if  he  can  be  so  good  to  her,  and  admire 
her.  Would  you  like  him  better  if  he  despised 
her?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  felt  both  the  defiance  and  the  secret 
shame  from  which  it  sprang  in  her  daughter's  words, 
and  she  waited  for  a  moment  before  she  answered, 
"  I  would  like  to  be  sure  he  didn't." 

"  If  he  does,  and  if  he  hides  it  from  her,  it's  the 
same  as  if  he  didn't;  it's  better.  But  you  all  wish 
to  dislike  him." 

"We  don't  wish  to  dislike  him,  Ellen,  goodness 
knows.  But  I  don't  think  he  would  care  much 
whether  we  disliked  him  or  not.  I  am  sure  your 
poor  father  and  I  would  be  only  too  glad  to  like 
him." 

"Lottie  wouldn't,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  resentment 
her  mother  found  pathetic,  it  was  so  feeble  and 
aimless. 

"Lottie  doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  She  could 
not  make  out  how  nearly  Ellen  was  to  sharing  the 
common  dislike,  or  how  far  she  would  go  in  for 
tifying  herself  against  it.  She  kept  with  difficulty 
to  her  negative  frankness,  and  she  let  the  girl 


THE   KENTONS  77 

leave  the  room  with  a  fretful  sigh,  as  if  provoked 
that  her  mother  would  not  provoke  her  further. 
There  were  moments  when  Mrs.  Kenton  believed 
that  Ellen  was  sick  of  her  love,  and  that  she  would 
pluck  it  out  of  her  heart  herself  if  she  were  left 
alone.  She  was  then  glad  Bittridge  had  come,  so 
that  Ellen  might  compare  with  the  reality  the 
counterfeit  presentment  she  had  kept  in  her  fancy; 
and  she  believed  that  if  she  could  but  leave 
him  to  do  his  worst,  it  would  be  the  best  for 
Ellen. 

In  the  evening,  directly  after  dinner,  Bittridge 
sent  up  his  name  for  Mrs.  Kenton.  The  judge 
had  remained  to  read  his  paper  below,  and  Lottie 
and  Boyne  had  gone  to  some  friends  in  another 
apartment.  It  seemed  to  Mrs.  Kenton  a  piece  of 
luck  that  she  should  be  able  to  see  him  alone,  and 
she  could  not  have  said  that  she  was  unprepared 
for  him  to  come  in,  holding  his  theatre-tickets  ex 
planatorily  in  his  hand,  or  surprised  when  he  began : 
"Mrs.  Kenton,  my  mother's  got  a  bad  headache, 
and  Fve  come  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.  -She  can't  use 
her  ticket  for  to-night,  and  I  want  you  to  let  Miss 
Ellen  come  with  me.  Will  you  ?" 

Bittridge  had  constituted  himself  an  old  friend 
of  the  whole  family  from  the  renewal  of  their  ac 
quaintance,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  was  now  made  aware 
of  his  being  her  peculiar  favorite.  In  spite  of 
the  instant  repulsion  she  felt,  she  was  not  averse 
to  what  he  proposed.  Her  fear  was  that  Ellen  would 
be  so,  or  that  she  could  keep  from  influencing  her 


78  THE  KENTONS 

to  this  test  of  her  real  feeling  for  Bittridge.  "  I  will 
ask  her,  Mr.  Bittridge,"  she  said,  with  a  severity 
which  was  a  preliminary  of  the  impartiality  she 
meant  to  use  with  Ellen. 

"  Well,  that's  right,"  he  answered,  and  while 
she  went  to  the  girl's  room  he  remained  examining 
the  details  of  the  drawing-room  decorations  in  easy 
security,  which  Mrs.  Kenton  justified  on  her  re 
turn. 

"  Ellen  will  be  ready  to  go  with  you,  Mr.  Bit 
tridge." 

"Well,  that's  good,"  said  the  young  man,  and 
while  he  talked  on  she  sat  wondering  at  a  nature 
which  all  modesty  and  deference  seemed  left  out  of, 
though  he  had  sometimes  given  evidence  of  his 
intellectual  appreciation  of  these  things.  He  talked 
to  Mrs.  Kenton  not  only  as  if  they  were  in  every- 
wise  equal,  but  as  if  they  were  of  the  same  age,  al 
most  of  the  same  sex. 

Ellen  came  in,  cloaked  and  hatted,  with  her 
delicate  face  excited  in  prospect  of  the  adventure, 
and  her  mother  saw  Bittridge  look  at  her  with  more 
tenderness  than  she  had  ever  seen  in  him  before. 
"  I'll  take  good  care  of  her,  Mrs.  Kenton,"  he  said, 
and  for  the  first  time  she  felt  herself  relent  a 
little  towards  him. 

A  minute  after  they  were  gone  Lottie  bounced 
into  the  room,  followed  by  Boyne. 

"  Momma !"  she  shouted,  "  Ellen  isn't  going  to 
the  theatre  with  that  fellow?" 

"Yes,  she  is." 


THE  KENTONS  79 

"And  you  let  her,  momma!  Without  a  chaper 
on?" 

Boyne's  face  had  mirrored  the  indignation  in 
his  sister's,  but  at  this  unprecedented  burst  of  con 
ventionality  he  forgot  their  momentary  alliance. 
"  Well,  you're  a  pretty  one  to  talk  about  chaperons! 
Walking  all  over  Tuskingum  with  fellows  at  night, 
and  going  buggy-riding  with  everybody,  and  out 
rowing,  and  here  fairly  begging  Jim  Plumpton  to 
come  down  to  the  steamer  and  see  you  off  again !" 

"  Shut  up !"  Lottie  violently  returned,  "  or  I'll  tell 
momma  how  you've  been  behaving  with  Rita  Plump- 
ton  yourself." 

"  Well,  tell !"  Boyne  defied  her. 

"  Oh,  it  don't  matter  what  a  brat  of  a  boy  says 
or  does,  anyway,"  said  Lottie.  "  But  I  think  Ellen 
is  disgracing  the  family.  Everybody  in  the  hotel 
is  laughing  at  that  wiggy  old  Mrs.  Bittridge,  with 
her  wobbly  eyes,  and  they  can  see  that  he's  just 
as  green!  The  Plumptons  have  been  laughing  so 
about  them,  and  I  told  them  that  we  had  nothing 
to  do  with  them  at  home,  and  had  fairly  turned 
Bittridge  out  of  the  house,  but  he  had  impudence 
enough  for  anything;  and  now  to  find  Ellen  going 
off  to  the  theatre  with  him  alone !" 

Lottie  began  to  cry  with  vexation  as  she  whipped 
out  of  the  room,  and  Boyne,  who  felt  himself  drawn 
to  her  side  again,  said,  very  seriously :  "  Well,  it  ain't 
the  thing  in  New  York,  you  know,  momma;  and 
anybody  can  see  what  a  jay  Bittridge  is.  I  think 
it's  too  bad  to  let  her." 


80  THE   KENTONS 

"  It  isn't  for  you  to  criticise  your  mother,  Boyne," 
said  Mrs.  Kenton,  but  she  was  more  shaken  than  she 
would  allow.  Her  own  traditions  were  so  simple 
that  the  point  of  etiquette  which  her  children  had 
urged  had  not  occurred  to  her.  The  question 
whether  Ellen  should  go  with  Bittridge  at  all  being 
decided,  she  would,  of  course,  go  in  New  York  as 
she  would  go  in  Tuskingum.  Now  Mrs.  Kenton 
perceived  that  she  must  not,  and  she  had  her  share 
of  humiliation  in  the  impression  which  his  mother, 
as  her  friend,  apparently,  was  making  with  her 
children's  acquaintances  in  the  hotel.  If  they  would 
think  everybody  in  Tuskingum  was  like  her,  it 
would  certainly  be  very  unpleasant,  but  she  would 
not  quite  own  this  to  herself,  still  less  to  a  four 
teen-year-old  boy.  "I  think  what  your  father  and 
I  decide  to  be  right  will  be  sufficient  excuse  for  you 
with  your  friends." 

"Does  father  know  it?"  Boyne  asked,  most  un 
expectedly. 

Having  no  other  answer  ready,  Mrs.  Kenton  said, 
"  You  had  better  go  to  bed,  my  son." 

"Well,"  he  grumbled,  as  he  left  the  room,  "I 
don't  know  where  all  the  pride  of  the  Kentons  is 
gone  to." 

In  his  sense  of  fallen  greatness  he  attempted  to 
join  Lottie  in  her  room,  but  she  said,  "  Go  away, 
nasty  thing!"  and  Boyne  was  obliged  to  seek  his 
own  room,  where  he  occupied  himself  with  a  con 
trivance  he  was  inventing  to  enable  you  to  close 
your  door  and  turn  off  your  gas  by  a  system  of 


THE   KENTONS  81 

pulleys  without  leaving  your  bed,  when  you  were 
tired  of  reading. 

Mrs.  Kenton  waited  for  her  husband  in  much 
less  comfort,  and  when  he  came,  and  asked,  restless 
ly,  "  Where  are  the  children?"  she  first  told  him  that 
Lottie  and  Boyne  were  in  their  rooms  before  she 
could  bring  herself  to  say  that  Ellen  had  gone 
to  the  theatre  with  Bittridge. 

It  was  some  relief  to  have  him  take  it  in  the  dull 
way  he  did,  and  to  say  nothing  worse  than,  "Did 
you  think  it  was  well  to  have  her?" 

"You  may  be  sure  I  didn't  want  her  to.  But 
what  would  she  have  said  if  I  had  refused  to  let 
her  go?  I  can  tell  you  it  isn't  an  easy  matter  to 
manage  her  in  this  business,  and  it's  very  easy 
for  you  to  criticise,  without  taking  the  respon 
sibility." 

"I'm  not  criticising,"  said  Kenton.  "I  know 
you  have  acted  for  the  best." 

"  The  children,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  wishing  to  be 
justified  further,  "think  she  ought  to  have  had  a 
chaperon.  I  didn't  think  of  that;  it  isn't  the  cus 
tom  at  home;  but  Lottie  was  very  saucy  about  it, 
and  I  had  to  send  Boyne  to  bed.  I  don't  think 
our  children  are  very  much  comfort  to  us." 

"  They  are  good  children,"  Kenton  said,  provision 
ally. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  worst  of  it.  If  they  were  bad, 
we  wouldn't  expect  any  comfort  from  them.  Ellen 
is  about  perfect.  She's  as  near  an  angel  as  a  child 
can  be,  but  she  could  hardly  have  given  us  more 


82  THE  KENTONS 

anxiety  if  she  had  been  the  worst  girl  in  the 
world." 

"  That's  true,"  the  father  sadly  assented. 

"  She  didn't  really  want  to  go  with  him  to-night, 
I'll  say  that  for  her,  and  if  I  had  said  a  single  word 
against  it  she  wouldn't  have  gone.  But  all  at  once, 
while  she  sat  there  trying  to  think  how  I  could  ex 
cuse  her,  she  began  asking  me  what  she  should  wear. 
There's  something  strange  about  it,  Rufus.  If  I 
believed  in  hypnotism,  I  should  say  she  had  gone 
because  he  willed  her  to  go." 

"I  guess  she  went  because  she  wanted  to  go — 
because  she's  in  love  with  him,"  said  Kenton,  hope- 


"Yes,"  Mrs.  Kenton  agreed.  "I  don't  see  how 
she  can  endure  the  sight  of  him.  He's  handsome 
enough,"  she  added,  with  a  woman's  subjective  logic. 
"And  there's  something  fascinating  about  him. 
He's  very  graceful,  and  he's  got  a  good  figure." 

"  He's  a  hound !"  said  Kenton,  exhaustively. 

"  Oh  yes,  he's  a  hound"  she  sighed,  as  if  there 
could  be  no  doubt  on  that  point.  "It  don't  seem 
right  for  him  to  be  in  the  same  room  with  Ellen. 
But  it's  for  her  to  say.  I  feel  more  and  more  that 
we  can't  interfere  without  doing  harm.  I  suppose 
that  if  she  were  not  so  innocent  herself  she  would 
realize  what  he  was  better.  But  I  do  think  he 
appreciates  her  innocence.  He  shows  more  rever 
ence  for  her  than  for  any  one  else." 

"  How  was  it  his  mother  didn't  go  ?"  asked  Ken- 
ton. 


THE  KENTONS  83 

"  She  had  a  headache,  he  said.  But  I  don't  believe 
that.  He  always  intended  to  get  Ellen  to  go.  And 
that's  another  thing  Lottie  was  vexed  about;  she 
says  everybody  is  laughing  at  Mrs.  Bittridge,  and 
it's  mortifying  to  have  people  take  her  for  a  friend 
of  ours." 

"  If  there  were  nothing  worse  than  that,"  said 
Kenton,  "I  guess  we  could  live  through  it.  Well, 
I  don't  know  how  it's  going  to  all  end." 

They  sat  talking  sadly,  but  finding  a  certain  com 
fort  in  their  mutual  discouragement,  and  in  their 
knowledge  that  they  were  doing  the  best  they  could 
for  their  child,  whose  freedom  they  must  not  in 
fringe  so  far  as  to  do  what  was  absolutely  best;  and 
the  time  passed  not  so  heavily  till  her  return.  This 
was  announced  by  the  mounting  of  the  elevator  to 
their  landing,  and  then  by  low,  rapid  pleading  in 
a  man's  voice  outside.  Kenton  was  about  to  open 
the  door,  when  there  came  the  formless  noise  of 
what  seemed  a  struggle,  and  Ellen's  voice  rose  in  a 
muffled  cry :  "  Oh !  Oh !  Let  me  be !  Go  away !  I 
hate  you!"  Kenton  flung  the  door  open,  and  Ellen 
burst  in,  running  to  hide  her  face  in  her  mother's 
breast,  where  she  sobbed  out,  "  He — he  kissed  me !" 
like  a  terrified  child  more  than  an  insulted  woman. 
Through  the  open  door  came  the  clatter  of  Bit- 
tridge's  feet  as  he  ran  down-stairs. 


VII 

WHEN  Mrs.  Kenton  came  from  quieting  the  hys 
terical  girl  in  her  room  she  had  the  task,  almost  as 
delicate  and  difficult,  of  quieting  her  husband. 
She  had  kept  him,  by  the  most  solemn  and  ex 
haustive  entreaty,  from  following  Bittridge  down 
stairs  and  beating  him  with  his  stick,  and  now 
she  was  answerable  to  him  for  his  forbearance.  "  If 
you  don't  behave  yourself,  Kufus,"  she  had  to  say, 
"you  will  have  some  sort  of  stroke.  After  all, 
there's  no  harm  done." 

"No  harm!  Do  you  call  it  no  harm  for  that 
hound  to  kiss  Ellen?" 

"  He  wouldn't  have  attempted  it  unless  something 
had  led  up  to  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Sarah!    How  can  you  speak  so  of  that  angel?" 
"  Oh,  that  angel  is  a  girl  like  the  rest.    You  kissed 
me  before  we  were  engaged." 
"That  was  very  different." 
"  I  don't  see  how.    If  your  daughter  is  so  sacred, 
why  wasn't  her  mother?    You  men  don't  think  your 
wives  are  sacred.    That's  it!" 

"No,  no,  Sarah!  It's  because  I  don't  think  of 
you  as  apart  from  myself,  that  I  can't  think  of  you 
as  I  do  of  Ellen.  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I  seemed 


THE   KENTONS  85 

to  set  her  above  you.  But  when  I  kissed  you  we 
were  very  young,  and  we  lived  in  a  simple  day,  when 
such  things  meant  no  harm;  and  I  was  very  fond 
of  you,  and  you  were  the  holiest  thing  in  the  world 
to  me.  Is  Ellen  holy  to  that  fellow?" 

"  I  know,"  Mrs.  Kenton  relented.  "  I'm  not  com 
paring  him  to  you.  And  there  is  a  difference  with 
Ellen.  She  isn't  like  other  girls.  If  it  had  been 
Lottie—" 

"I  shouldn't  have  liked  it  with  Lottie,  either," 
said  the  major,  stiffly.  "But  if  it  had  been  Lottie 
she  would  have  boxed  his  ears  for  him,  instead  of 
running  to  you.  Lottie  can  take  care  of  herself. 
And  I  will  take  care  of  Ellen.  When  I  see  that 
scoundrel  in  the  morning — " 

"  What  will  you  do,  an  old  man  like  you  ?  I  can 
tell  you,  it's  something  you've  just  got  to  bear — if 
you  don't  want  the  scandal  to  fill  the  whole  hotel. 
It's  a  very  fortunate  thing,  after  all.  It  '11  put  an 
end  to  the  whole  affair." 

"Do  you  think  so,  Sarah?  If  I  believed  that — 
What  does  Ellen  say?" 

"  Nothing;  she  won't  say  anything — just  cries  and 
hides  her  face.  I  believe  she  is  ashamed  of  having 
made  a  scene  before  us.  But  I  know  that  she's  so 
disgusted  with  him  that  she  will  never  look  at  him 
again,  and  if  it's  brought  her  to  that  I  should  think 
his  kissing  her  the  greatest  blessing  in  the  world 
to  us  all.  Yes,  Ellen!"! 

Mrs.  Kenton  hurried  off  at  a  faint  call  from  the 
girl's  room,  and  when  she  came  again  she  sat  down 


86  THE  KENTONS 

to  a  long  discussion  of  the  situation  with  her  hus 
band,  while  she  slowly  took  down  her  hair  and 
prepared  it  for  the  night.  Her  conclusion,  which 
she  made  her  husband's,  was  that  it  was  most  fort 
unate  they  should  be  sailing  so  soon,  and  that  it 
was  the  greatest  pity  they  were  not  sailing  in  the 
morning.  She  wished  him  to  sleep,  whether  she 
slept  herself  or  not,  and  she  put  the  most  hopeful 
face  possible  upon  the  matter.  "  One  thing  you  can 
rest  assured  of,  Rufus,  and  that  is  that  it's  all 
over  with  Ellen.  She  may  never  speak  to  you 
about  him,  and  you  mustn't  ever  mention  him, 
but  she  feels  just  as  you  could  wish.  Does  that 
satisfy  you?  Some  time  I  will  tell  you  all  she 
says — " 

"  I  don't  care  to  hear,"  said  Kenton.  "  All  I  want 
is  for  him  to  keep  away  from  me.  I  think  if  he 
spoke  to  me  I  should  kill  him." 

"Rufus!" 

"I  can't  help  it,  Sarah.  I  feel  outraged  to  the 
bottom  of  my  soul.  I  could  kill  him." 

Mrs.  Kenton  turned  her  head  and  looked  stead 
fastly  at  him  over  her  shoulder.  "  If  you  strike 
him,  if  you  touch  him,  Mr.  Kenton,  you  will  undo 
everything  that  the  abominable  wretch  has  done 
for  Ellen,  and  you  will  close  my  mouth  and  tie  my 
hands.  Will  you  promise  that  under  no  provoca 
tion  whatever  will  you  do  him  the  least  harm?  I 
know  Ellen  better  than  you  do,  and  I  know  that 
you  will  make  her  hate  you  unless — " 

"  Oh,  I  will  promise !    You  needn't  be  afraid.  Lord 


THE   KENTONS  87 

help  me !"  Kenton  groaned.  "  I  won't  touch  him. 
But  don't  expect  me  to  speak  to  him." 

"  No,  I  don't  expect  that.  He  won't  offer  to  speak 
to  you." 

They  slept,  and  in  the  morning  she  stayed  to 
breakfast  with  Ellen  in  their  apartment,  and  let 
her  husband  go  down  with  their  younger  children. 
She  could  trust  him  now,  whatever  form  his  further 
trial  should  take,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  pledging 
himself  to  her  anew,  when  Bittridge  came  hilarious 
ly  to  meet  him  in  the  reading-room,  where  he  went 
for  a  paper  after  breakfast. 

"  Ah,  judge !"  said  the  young  man,  gayly.  "  Hello, 
Boyne !"  he  added  to  the  boy,  who  had  come  with  his 
father;  Lottie  had  gone  directly  up-stairs  from  the 
breakfast-room.  "  I  hope  you're  all  well  this  morn 
ing  ?  Play  not  too  much  for  Miss  Ellen  ?" 

Kenton  looked  him  in  the  face  without  answering, 
and  then  tried  to  get  away  from  him,  but  Bittridge 
followed  him  up,  talking,  and  ignoring  his  silence. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  piece,  judge.  You  must  take 
Mrs.  Kenton.  I  know  you'll  both  like  it.  I  haven't 
ever  seen  Miss  Ellen  so  interested.  I  hope  the 
walk  home  didn't  fatigue  her.  I  wanted  to  get  a 
cab,  but  she  would  walk."  The  judge  kept  moving 
on,  with  his  head  down.  He  did  not  speak,  and  Bit 
tridge  was  forced  to  notice  his  silence.  "  Nothing 
the  matter,  I  hope,  with  Miss  Ellen,  judge?" 

"  Go  away,"  said  the  judge,  in  a  low  voice,  fum 
bling  the  head  of  his  stick. 

"Why,    what's    up?"    asked    Bittridge,    and    he 


88  THE  KENTON S 

managed  to  get  in  front  of  Kenton  and  stay  him 
at  a  point  where  Kenton  could  not  escape.  It 
was  a  corner  of  the  room  to  which  the  old  man 
had  aimlessly  tended,  with  no  purpose  but  to  avoid 
him. 

"I  wish  you  to  let  me  alone,  sir,"  said  Kenton 
at  last.  "  I  can't  speak  to  you." 

"I  understand  what  you  mean,  judge,"  said  Bit- 
tridge,  with  a  grin,  all  the  more  maddening  because 
it  seemed  involuntary.  "  But  I  can  explain  every 
thing.  I  just  want  a  few  words  with  you.  It's 
very  important;  it's  life  or  death  with  me,  sir," 
he  said,  trying  to  look  grave.  "  Will  you  let  me 
go  to  your  rooms  with  you?" 

Kenton  made  no  reply. 

Bittridge  began  to  laugh.  "  Then  let's  sit  down 
here,  or  in  the  ladies'  parlor.  It  won't  take  me 
two  minutes  to  make  everything  right.  If  you  don't 
believe  I'm  in  earnest —  I  know  you  don't  think 
I  am,  but  I  can  assure  you —  Will  you  let  me  speak 
with  you  about  Miss  Ellen?" 

Still  Kenton  did  not  answer,  shutting  his  lips 
tight,  and  remembering  his  promise  to  his  wife. 

Bittridge  laughed,  as  if  in  amusement  at  what 
he  had  done.  "  Judge,  let  me  say  two  words  to  you 
in  private!  If  you  can't  now,  tell  me  when  you 
can.  We're  going  back  this  evening,  mother  and 
I  are;  she  isn't  well,  and  I'm  not  going  to  take 
her  to  Washington.  I  don't  want  to  go  leaving 
you  with  the  idea  that  I  wanted  to  insult  Miss 
Ellen.  I  care  too  much  for  her.  I  want  to  see  you 


THE  KENTONS  89 

and  Mrs.  Kenton  about  it.  I  do,  indeed.  And 
won't  you  let  me  see  you,  somewhere?" 

Kenton  looked  away,  first  to  one  side  and  then 
to  another,  and  seemed  stifling. 

"  Won't  you  speak  to  me  ?  Won't  you  answer 
me?  See  here!  I'd  get  down  on  my  knees  to  you 
if  it  would  do  you  any  good.  Where  will  you  talk 
with  me?" 

"Nowhere!"  shouted  Kenton.  "Will  you  go 
away,  or  shall  I  strike  you  with  my  stick?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think,"  said  Bittridge,  and  sudden 
ly,  in  the  wantonness  of  his  baffled  effrontery,  he 
raised  his  hand  and  rubbed  the  back  of  it  in  the 
old  man's  face. 

Boyne  Kenton  struck  wildly  at  him,  and  Bit 
tridge  caught  the  boy  by  the  arm  and  flung  him 
to  his  knees  on  the  marble  floor.  The  men  reading 
in  the  arm-chairs  about  started  to  their  feet;  a 
porter  came  running,  and  took  hold  of  Bittridge. 
"  Do  you  want  an  officer,  Judge  Kenton  ?"  he  panted. 

"  No,  no !"  Kenton  answered,  choking  and  trem 
bling.  "Don't  arrest  him.  I  wish  to  go  to  my 
rooms,  that's  all.  Let  him  go.  Don't  do  anything 
about  it." 

"I'll  help  you,  judge,"  said  the  porter.  "Take 
hold  of  this  fellow,"  he  said  to  two  other  porters 
who  came  up.  "  Take  him  to  the  desk,  and  tell 
the  clerk  he  struck  Judge  Kenton,  but  the  judge 
don't  want  him  arrested." 

Before  Kenton  reached  the  elevator  with  Boyne, 
who  was  rubbing  his  knees  and  fighting  back  the 


• 


90  THE  KENTONS 

tears,  he  heard  the  clerk's  voice  saying,  formally, 
to  the  porters,  "Baggage  out  of  35  and  37,"  and 
adding,  as  mechanically,  to  Bittridge :  "  Your  rooms 
are  wanted.  Get  out  of  them  at  once!" 

It  seemed  the  gathering  of  neighborhood  about 
Kenton,  where  he  had  felt  himself  so  unfriended, 
against  the  outrage  done  him,  and  he  felt  the 
sweetness  of  being  personally  championed  in  a  place 
where  he  had  thought  himself  valued  merely  for 
the  profit  that  was  in  him;  his  eyes  filled,  and  hia 
voice  failed  him  in  thanking  the  elevator-boy  for 
running  before  him  to  ring  the  bell  of  his  apart 
ment. 


VIII 


THE  next  day,  in  Tuskingum,  Richard  Kenton 
found  among  the  letters  of  his  last  mail  one  which 
he  easily  knew  to  be  from  his  sister  Lottie,  by  the 
tightly  curled-up  handwriting,  and  by  the  unliterary 
look  of  the  slanted  and  huddled  address  of  the  en 
velope.  The  only  doubt  he  could  have  felt  in  open 
ing  it  was  from  the  unwonted  length  at  which  she 
had  written  him;  Lottie  usually  practised  a  laconic 
brevity  in  her  notes,  which  were  suited  to  the 
poverty  of  her  written  vocabulary  rather  than  the 
affluence  of  her  spoken  word. 

"  Dear  Dick  "  [her  letter  ran,  tripping  and  stumbling 
in  its  course],  "I  have  got  to  tell  you  about  something 
that  has  just  happened  here,  and  you  needent  laugh  at 
the  speling,  or  the  way  I  tell  it,  but  just  pay  attention 
to  the  thing  itself,  if  you  please.  That  disgusting  Bit- 
tridge  has  been  here  with  his  horrid  wiggy  old  mother, 
and  momma  let  him  take  Ellen  to  the  theatre.  On  the 
way  home  he  tried  to  make  her  promise  she  would 
marry  him,  and  at  the  door  he  kissed  her.  They  had  an 
awful  night  with  her  hissterics,  and  I  heard  momma  go 
ing  in  and  out,  and  trying  to  comfort  her  till  daylight, 
nearly.  In  the  morning  I  went  down  with  poppa  and 
Boyne  to  breakfast,  and  after  I  came  up,  father  went  to 
the  reading-room  to  get  a  paper,  and  that  Bittridge  was 
there  waiting  for  him,  and  wanted  to  speak  with  him 
about  Ellen.  Poppa  wouldent  say  a  \vord  to  him,  and  he 
kept  following  poppa  up,  to  make  him.  Boyne  says  he 
wouldent  take  no  for  an  ansir,  and  hung  on  and  hung 


92  THE  KENTONS 

on,  till  poppa  threatened  to  hitt  him  with  his  cane.  Then 
he  saw  it  was  no  use,  and  he  took  his  hand  and  rubbed 
it  in  poppa's  face,  and  Boyne  believes  he  was  trying  to 
pull  poppa's  nose.  Boyne  acted  like  I  would  have  done; 
he  pounded  Bittridge  in  the  back;  but  of  course  Bit- 
tridge  was  too  strong  for  him,  and  threw  him  on  the 
floor,  and  Boyne  scraped  his  knee  so  that  it  bledd.  Then 
the  porters  came  up,  and  caught  Bittridge,  and  wanted 
to  send  for  a  policeman,  but  father  wouldent  let  them, 
and  the  porters  took  Bittridge  to  the  desk  and  the 
clerk  told  him  to  get  out  instantly  and  they  left  as  soon 
as  old  Wiggy  could  get  her  things  on.  I  dont  know 
where  they  went,  but  he  told  poppa  they  were  going 
home  to-day  any  way.  Now,  Dick,  I  don't  know  what 
you  will  want  to  do,  and  I  am  not  going  to  put  you  up 
to  anything,  but  I  know  what  /  would  do,  pretty  well, 
the  first  time  Bittridge  showed  himself  in  Tuskingum. 
You  can  do  just  as  you  please,  and  I  don't  ask  you  to 
believe  me  if  you're  think  I'm  so  exciteable  that  I  cant 
tell  the  truth.  I  guess  Boyne  will  say  the  same.  Much 
love  to  Mary.  Your  affectionate  sister, 

"  LOTTIE. 

"  P.  S. — Every  word  Lottie  says  is  true,  but  I  am 
not  sure  he  meant  to  pull  his  nose.  The  reason  why 
he  threw  me  down  so  easily  is,  I  have  grown  about  a  foot, 
and  I  have  not  got  up  my  strength.  BOYNE. 

"  This  is  strictly  confidential.  They  don't  know  we 
are  writing.  LOTTIE." 


After  reading  this  letter,  Richard  Kenton  tore  it 
into  small  pieces,  so  that  there  should  not  be  even 
so  much  witness  as  it  bore  to  facts  that  seemed 
to  fill  him  with  fury  to  the  throat.  His  fury  was, 
in  agreement  with  his  temperament,  the  white  kind 
and  cold  kind.  He  was  able  to  keep  it  to  himself 
for  that  reason;  at  supper  his  wife  knew  merely 
that  he  had  something  on  his  mind  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  talk  of;  and  experience  had  taught 


THE   KENTONS  93 

her  that  it  would  be  useless  to  try  making  him 


He  slept  upon  his  wrath,  and  in  the  morning 
early,  at  an  hour  when  he  knew  there  would  be 
no  loafers  in  the  place,  he  went  to  an  out-dated 
saddler's  shop,  and  asked  the  owner,  a  veteran  of 
his  father's  regiment,  "  Welks,  do  you  happen  to 
have  a  cowhide  among  your  antiquities?" 

"Regular  old  style?"  Welks  returned.  "Kind 
they  make  out  of  a  cow's  hide  and  use  on  a 
man's?" 

"  Something  of  that  sort,"  said  Richard,  with  a 
slight  smile. 

The  saddler  said  nothing  more,  but  rummaged 
among  the  riff-raff  on  an  upper  shelf.  He  got  down 
with  the  tapering,  translucent,  wicked-looking  thing 
in  his  hand.  "  I  reckon  that's  what  you're  after, 
squire." 

"Reckon  it  is,  Welks,"  said  Richard,  drawing 
it  through  his  tubed  left  hand.  Then  he  buttoned 
it  under  his  coat,  and  paid  the  quarter  which  Welks 
said  had  always  been  the  price  of  a  cowhide  ever 
since  he  could  remember,  and  walked  away  towards 
the  station. 

"How's  the  old  colonel?"  Welks  called  after 
him,  having  forgotten  to  ask  before. 

"The  colonel's  all  right,"  Richard  called  back, 
without  looking  round. 

He  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  station. 
A  local  train  came  in  from  Ballardsville  at  8.15, 
and  waited  for  the  New  York  special,  and  then 


94  THE   KENTONS 

returned  to  Ballardsville.  Richard  had  bought  a 
ticket  for  that  station,  and  was  going  to  take  the 
train  back,  but  among  the  passengers  who  descended 
from  it  when  it  drew  in  was  one  who  saved  him  the 
trouble  of  going. 

Bittridge,  with  his  overcoat  hanging  on  his  arm, 
advanced  towards  him  with  the  rest,  and  contin 
ued  to  advance,  in  a  sort  of  fascination,  after  his 
neighbors,  with  the  instinct  that  something  was 
about  to  happen,  parted  on  either  side  of  Richard, 
and  left  the  two  men  confronted.  Richard  did  not 
speak,  but  deliberately  reached  out  his  left  hand, 
which  he  caught  securely  into  Bittridge's  collar; 
then  he  began  to  beat  him  with  the  cowhide 
wherever  he  could  strike  his  writhing  and  twisting 
shape.  Neither  uttered  a  word,  and  except  for  the 
whir  of  the  cowhide  in  the  air,  and  the  rasping 
sound  of  its  arrest  upon  the  body  of  Bittridge,  the 
thing  was  done  in  perfect  silence.  The  witnesses 
stood  well  back  in  a  daze,  from  which  they  recovered 
when  Richard  released  Bittridge  with  a  twist  of 
the  hand  that  tore  his  collar  loose  and  left  his 
cravat  dangling,  and  tossed  the  frayed  cowhide 
away,  and  turned  and  walked  homeward.  Then  one 
of  them  picked  up  Bittridge's  hat  and  set  it  aslant 
on  his  head,  and  others  helped  pull  his  collar  to 
gether  and  tie  his  cravat. 

For  the  few  moments  that  Richard  Kenton  re 
mained  in  sight  they  scarcely  found  words  coherent 
enough  for  question,  and  when  they  did,  Bittridge 
had  nothing  but  confused  answers  to  give  to  the 


THE  KENTONS  95 

effect  that  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  but  he 
would  find  out.  He  got  into  a  hack  and  had  him 
self  driven  to  his  hotel,  but  he  never  made  the  in 
quiry  which  he  threatened. 

In  his  own  house  Richard  Kenton  lay  down 
awhile,  deadly  sick,  and  his  wife  had  to  bring  him 
brandy  before  he  could  control  his  nerves  sufficient 
ly  to  speak.  Then  he  told  her  what  he  had  done, 
and  why,  and  Mary  pulled  off  his  shoes  and  put  a 
hot-water  bottle  to  his  cold  feet.  It  was  not  exactly 
the  treatment  for  a  champion,  but  Mary  Kenton 
was  not  thinking  of  that,  and  when  Richard  said 
he  still  felt  a  little  sick  at  the  stomach  she  wanted 
him  to  try  a  drop  of  camphor  in  addition  to  the 
brandy.  She  said  he  must  not  talk,  but  she  wished 
him  so  much  to  talk  that  she  was  glad  when  he 
began. 

"It  seemed  to  be  something  I  had  to  do,  Mary, 
but  I  would  give  anything  if  I  had  not  been  obliged 
to  do  it." 

"Yes,  I  know  just  how  you  feel,  Dick,  and  I 
think  it's  pretty  hard  this  has  come  on  you.  I  do 
think  Ellen  might—" 

"  It  wasn't  her  fault,  Mary.  You  mustn't  blame 
her.  She's  had  more  to  bear  than  all  the  rest  of 
us."  Mary  looked  stubbornly  unconvinced,  and  she 
was  not  moved,  apparently,  by  what  he  went  on  to 
say.  "  The  thing  now  is  to  keep  what  I've  done 
from  making  more  mischief  for  her." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Dick?  You  don't  believe 
he'll  do  anything  about  it,  do  you?" 


96  THE  KENTONS 

"  No,  I'm  not  afraid  of  that.  His  mouth  is  shut. 
But  you  can't  tell  how  Ellen  will  take  it.  She  may 
side  with  him  now." 

"Dick!  If  I  thought  Ellen  Kenton  could  be 
such  a  fool  as  that !" 

"  If  she's  in  love  with  him  she'll  take  his  part." 

"  But  she  can't  be  in  love  with  him  when  she 
knows  how  he  acted  to  your  father." 

"  We  can't  be  sure  of  that.  I  know  how  he  act 
ed  to  father;  but  at  this  minute  I  pity  him  so  that 
I  could  take  his  part  against  father.  And  I  can 
understand  how  Ellen —  Anyway,  I  must  make  a 
clean  breast  of  it.  What  day  is  this?  Thursday? 
And  they  sail  Saturday!  I  must  write — " 

He  lifted  himself  on  his  elbow,  and  made  as 
if  to  throw  off  the  shawl  she  had  spread  upon 
him. 

"  No,  no !  I  will  write,  Dick !  I  will  write  to 
your  mother.  What  shall  I  say?"  She  whirled 
about,  and  got  the  paper  and  ink  out  of  her  writing- 
desk,  and  sat  down  near  him  to  keep  him  from 
getting  up,  and  wrote  the  date,  and  the  address, 
"Dear  Mother  Kenton,"  which  was  the  way  she 
always  began  her  letters  to  Mrs.  Kenton,  in  order 
to  distinguish  her  from  her  own  mother.  "Now 
what  shall  I  say?" 

"  Simply  this,"  answered  Kichard.  "  That  I  knew 
of  what  had  happened  in  New  York,  and  when  I 
met  him  this  morning  I  cowhided  him.  Ugh!" 

"Well,  that  won't  do,  Dick.  You've  got  to  tell 
all  about  it.  Your  mother  won't  understand." 


THE   KENTOXS  97 

"  Then  you  write  what  you  please,  and  read  it 
to  me.  It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  it."  Richard 
closed  his  eyes,  and  Mary  wrote: 


"  DEAR  MOTHER  KENTON, — I  am  sitting  by  Richard, 
writing  at  his  request,  about  what  he  has  done.  He  re 
ceived  a  letter  from  New  York  telling  him  of  the  Bit- 
tridges'  performances  there,  and  how  that  wretch  had 
insulted  and  abused  you  all.  He  bought  a  cowhide, 
meaning  to  go  over  to  Ballardsville,  and  use  it  on  him 
there,  but  B.  came  over  on  the  Accommodation  this 
morning,  and  Richard  met  him  at  the  station.  He  did 
not  attempt  to  resist,  for  Richard  took  him  quite  by 
surprise.  Now,  Mother  Kenton,  you  know  that  Richard 
doesn't  approve  of  violence,  and  the  dear,  sweet  soul  is 
perfectly  broken-down  by  what  he  had  to  do.  But  he 
had  to  do  it,  and  he  wishes  you  to  know  at  once  that 
he  did  it.  He  dreads  the  effect  upon  Ellen,  and  we 
must  leave  it  to  your  judgment  about  telling  her.  Of 
course,  sooner  or  later  she  must  find  it  out.  You  need 
not  be  alarmed  about  Richard.  He  is  just  nauseated 
a  little,  and  he  will  be  all  right  as  soon  as  his  stomach 
is  settled.  He  thinks  you  ought  to  have  this  letter  be 
fore  you  sail,  and  with  affectionate  good-byes  to  all,  in 
which  Dick  joins, 

"  Your  loving  daughter, 

"MARY  KENTON." 


"There!    Will  that  do?" 

"Yes,  that  is  everything  that  can  be  said,"  an 
swered  Richard,  and  Mary  kissed  him  gratefully 
before  sealing  her  letter. 

"  I  will  put  a  special  delivery  on  it,"  she  said, 
and  her  precaution  availed  to  have  the  letter  de 
livered  to  Mrs.  Kenton  the  evening  the  family  left 
the  hotel,  when  it  was  too  late  to  make  any  change 
in  their  plans,  but  in  time  to  give  her  a  bad  night 
on  the  steamer,  in  her  doubt  whether  she  ought  to 
let  the  family  go,  with  this  trouble  behind  them. 


98  THE   KENTONS 

But  she  would  have  had  a  bad  night  on  the  steamer 
in  any  case,  with  the  heat,  and  noise,  and  smell  of 
the  docks;  and  the  steamer  sailed  with  her  at  six 
o'clock  the  next  morning  with  the  doubt  still  open 
in  her  mind.  The  judge  had  not  been  of  the  least 
use  to  her  in  helping  solve  it,  and  she  had  not  been 
able  to  bring  herself  to  attack  Lottie  for  writing  to 
Richard.  She  knew  it  was  Lottie  who  had  made 
the  mischief,  but  she  could  not  be  sure  that  it  was 
mischief  till  she  knew  its  effect  upon  Ellen.  The 
girl  had  been  carried  in  the  arms  of  one  of  the 
stewards  from  the  carriage  to  her  berth  in  Lottie's 
room,  and  there  she  had  lain  through  the  night, 
speechless  and  sleepless. 


IX 


ELLEN  did  not  move  or  manifest  any  conscious 
ness  when  the  steamer  left  her  dock  and  moved 
out  into  the  stream,  or  take  any  note  of  the  tu 
mult  that  always  attends  a  great  liner's  depart 
ure.  At  breakfast-time  her  mother  came  to  her 
from  one  of  the  brief  absences  she  made,  in  the 
hope  that  at  each  turn  she  should  find  her  in  a 
different  mood,  and  asked  if  she  would  not  have 
something  to  eat. 

"Pm  not  hungry,"  she  answered.  "When  will 
it  sail?" 

"  Why,  Ellen !  We  sailed  two  hours  ago,  and  the 
pilot  has  just  left  us." 

Ellen  lifted  herself  on  her  elbow  and  stared 
at  her.  "  And  you  let  me !"  she  said,  cruelly. 

"  Ellen !  I  will  not  have  this !"  cried  her  mother, 
frantic  at  the  reproach.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  my 
letting  you?  You  knew  that  we  were  going  to  sail, 
didn't  you  ?  What  else  did  you  suppose  we  had  come 
to  the  steamer  for?" 

"I  supposed  you  would  let  me  stay,  if  I  wanted 
to.  But  go  away,  momma,  go  away!  You're  all 
against  me — you,  and  poppa,  and  Lottie,  and  Boyne. 
Oh,  dear !  oh,  dear !"  She  threw  herself  down  in  her 


100  THE   KENTONS 

berth  and  covered  her  face  with  the  sheet,  sobbing, 
while  her  mother  stood  by  in  an  anguish  of  pity 
and  anger.  She  wanted  to  beat  the  girl,  she  wanted 
to  throw  herself  upon  her,  and  weep  with  her  in 
the  misery  which  she  shared  with  her. 

Lottie  came  to  the  door  of  the  state-room  with 
an  arm-load  of  long-stemmed  roses,  the  gift  of 
the  young  Mr.  Plumpton,  who  had  not  had  so 
much  to  be  entreated  to  come  down  to  the  steamer 
and  see  her  off  as  Boyne  had  pretended.  "  Momma," 
she  said,  "I  have  got  to  leave  these  roses  in  here, 
whether  Ellen  likes  it  or  not.  Boyne  won't  have 
them  in  his  room,  because  he  says  the  man  that's 
with  him  would  have  a  right  to  object;  and  this 
is  half  my  room,  anyway." 

Mrs.  Kenton  frowned  and  shook  her  head,  but 
Ellen  answered  from  under  the  sheet,  "  I  don't  mind 
the  roses,  Lottie.  I  wish  you'd  stay  with  me  a  little 
while." 

Lottie  hesitated,  having  in  mind  the  break 
fast  for  which  the  horn  had  just  sounded.  But 
apparently  she  felt  that  one  good  turn  deserved 
another,  and  she  answered :  "  All  right ;  I  will,  Nell. 
Momma,  you  tell  Boyne  to  hurry,  and  come  to 
Ellen  as  soon  as  he's  done,  and  then  I  will  go. 
Don't  let  anybody  take  my  place." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Ellen,  still  from  under  the  sheet, 
"  that  momma  would  have  your  breakfast  sent  here. 
I  don't  want  Boyne." 

Women  apparently  do  not  require  any  explana 
tion  of  these  swift  vicissitudes  in  one  another,  each 


THE   KENTONS  101 

knowing  probably  in  herself  the  nerves  from  which 
they  proceed.  Mrs.  Kenton  promptly  assented,  in 
spite  of  the  sulky  reluctance  which  Lottie's  blue  eyes 
looked  at  her;  she  motioned  her  violently  to  si 
lence,  and  said:  "Yes,  I  will,  Ellen.  I  will  send 
breakfast  for  both  of  you." 

When  she  was  gone,  Ellen  uncovered  her  face 
and  asked  Lottie  to  dip  a  towel  in  water  and  give 
it  to  her.  As  she  bathed  her  eyes  she  said,  "You 
don't  care,  do  you,  Lottie?" 

"Not  very  much,"  said  Lottie,  unsparingly.  "I 
can  go  to  lunch,  I  suppose." 

"Maybe  I'll  go  to  lunch  with  you,"  Ellen  sug 
gested,  as  if  she  were  speaking  of  some  one 
else. 

Lottie  wasted  neither  sympathy  nor  surprise  on 
the  question.  "Well,  maybe  that  would  be  the 
best  thing.  Why  don't  you  come  to  breakfast  ?" 

"  No,  I  won't  go  to  breakfast.    But  you  go." 

When  Lottie  joined  her  family  in  the  dining- 
saloon  she  carelessly  explained  that  Ellen  had  said 
she  wanted  to  be  alone.  Before  the  young  man, 
who  was  the  only  other  person  besides  the  Kentons 
at  their  table,  her  mother  could  not  question  her 
with  any  hope  that  the  bad  would  not  be  made 
worse,  and  so  she  remained  silent.  Judge  Kenton 
sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  plate,  where  as  yet 
the  steward  had  put  no  breakfast  for  him;  Boyne 
was  supporting  the  dignity  of  the  family  in  one 
of  those  moments  of  majesty  from  which  he  was 
so  apt  to  lapse  into  childish  dependence.  Lottie 


102  THE   KENTONS 

offered  him  another  alternative  by  absently  laying 
hold  of  his  napkin  on  the  table. 

"  That's  mine,"  he  said,  with  husky  gloom. 

She  tossed  it  back  to  him  with  prompt  disdain 
and  a  deeply  eyelashed  glance  at  a  napkin  on  her 
right.  The  young  man  who  sat  next  it  said,  with 
a  smile,  "Perhaps  that's  yours — unless  I've  taken 
my  neighbor's." 

Lottie  gave  him  a  stare,  and  when  she  had  suffi 
ciently  punished  him  for  his  temerity  said,  rather 
sweetly,  "  Oh,  thank  you,"  and  took  the  napkin. 

"I  hope  we  shall  all  have  use  for  them  before 
long,"  the  young  man  ventured  again. 

"Well,  I  should  think  as  much,"  returned  the 
girl,  and  this  was  the  beginning  of  a  conversation 
which  the  young  man  shared  successively  with  the 
judge  and  Mrs.  Kenton  as  opportunity  offered.  He 
gave  the  judge  his  card  across  the  table,  and  when 
the  judge  had  read  on  it,  "Rev.  Hugh  Breckon," 
he  said  that  his  name  was  Kenton,  and  he  intro 
duced  the  young  man  formally  to  his  family.  Mr. 
Breckon  had  a  clean-shaven  face,  with  an  habitual 
smile  curving  into  the  cheeks  from  under  a  long, 
straight  nose;  his  chin  had  a  slight  whopper-jaw 
twist  that  was  charming;  his  gay  eyes  were  blue, 
and  a  full  vein  came  down  his  forehead  between 
them  from  his  smooth  hair.  When  he  laughed, 
which  was  often,  his  color  brightened. 

Boyne  was  named  last,  and  then  Mr.  Breckon 
said,  with  a  smile  that  showed  all  his  white  teeth, 
"Oh  yes,  Mr.  Boyne  and  I  are  friends  already — 


THE  KENTONS  103 

ever  since  we  found  ourselves  room-mates,"  and  but 
for  this,  as  Lottie  afterwards  noted,  they  might 
never  have  known  Boyne  was  rooming  with  him, 
and  could  easily  have  made  all  sorts  of  insulting 
remarks  about  Mr.  Breckon  in  their  ignorance. 

The  possibility  seemed  to  delight  Mr.  Breckon; 
he  invited  her  to  make  all  the  insulting  remarks 
she  could  think  of,  any  way,  and  professed  himself 
a  loser,  so  far  as  her  real  opinion  was  withheld 
from  him  by  reason  of  his  rashness  in  giving  the 
facts  away.  In  the  electrical  progress  of  their 
acquaintance  she  had  begun  walking  up  and  down 
the  promenade  with  him  after  they  came  up  from 
breakfast;  her  mother  had  gone  to  Ellen;  the  judge 
had  been  made  comfortable  in  his  steamer-chair, 
and  Boyne  had  been  sent  about  his  business. 

"  I  will  try  to  think  some  up,"  she  promised  him, 
"as  soon  as  I  have  any  real  opinion  of  you,"  and 
he  asked  her  if  he  might  consider  that  a  beginning. 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  her  indomitable  blue 
eyes,  and  said,  "  If  it  hadn't  been  for  your  card, 
and  the  Keverend  on  it,  I  should  have  said  you 
were  an  actor." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Breckon,  with  a  laugh, 
"perhaps  I  am,  in  a  way.  I  oughtn't  to  be,  of 
course,  but  if  a  minister  ever  forces  himself,  I 
suppose  he's  acting." 

"  I  don't  see,"  said  Lottie,  instantly  availing  her 
self  of  the  opening,  "  how  you  can  get  up  and  pray, 
Sunday  after  Sunday,  whether  you  feel  like  it  or 
not." 


104  THE   KENTONS 

The  young  man  said,  with  another  laugh,  hut  not 
so  gay,  "  Well,  the  case  has  its  difficulties." 

"  Or  perhaps  you  just  read  prayers,"  Lottie  sharp 
ly  conjectured. 

"No,"  he  returned,  "I  haven't  that  advantage — 
if  you  think  it  one.  I'm  a  sort  of  a  Unitarian.  Very 
advanced,  too,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Is  that  a  kind  of  Universalis* «" 

"Not — not  exactly.  There's  an  old  joke — I'm 
not  sure  it's  very  good — which  distinguishes  be- 
tween  the  sects.  It's  said  that  the  Universalists 
think  God  is  too  good  to  damn  them,  and  the  Uni 
tarians  think  they  are  too  good  to  be  damned." 
Lottie  shrank  a  little  from  him.  "Ah!"  he  cried, 
"you  think  it  sounds  wicked.  Well,  I'm  sorry. 
I'm  not  clerical  enough  to  joke  about  serious 
things." 

He  looked  into  her  face  with  a  pretended  anxiety. 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  with  a  little  scorn. 
"  I  guess  if  you  can  stand  it,  I  can." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  can.  I'm  afraid  it's  more 
in  keeping  with  an  actor's  profession  than  my  own. 
Why,"  he  added,  as  if  to  make  a  diversion,  "  should 
you  have  thought  I  was  an  actor  ?" 

"I  suppose  because  you  were  clean-shaved;  and 
your  pronunciation.  So  Englishy." 

"Is  it?  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be  proud.  But  I'm 
not  an  Englishman.  I  am  a  plain  republican  Amer 
ican.  May  I  ask  if  you  are  English  ?" 

"Oh!"  said  Lottie.  "As  if  you  thought  such 
a  thing.  We're  from  Ohio." 


THE   KENTONS  105 

Mr.  Breckon  said,  "  Ah !"  Lottie  could  not  make 
out  in  just  what  sense. 

By  this  time  they  were  leaning  on  the  rail  of 
the  promenade,  looking  over  at  what  little  was  left 
orf  Long  Island,  and  she  said,  abruptly :  "  I  think 
I  will  go  and  see  how  my  father  is  getting  along." 

"  Oh,  do  take  me  with  you,  Miss  Ken  ton !"  Mr. 
Breckon  entreated.  "  I  am  feeling  very  badly  about 
that  poor  old  joke.  I  know  you  don't  think  well 
of  me  for  it,  and  I  wish  to  report  what  I've  been 
saying  to  your  father,  and  let  him  judge  me.  I've 
heard  that  it's  hard  to  live  up  to  Ohio  people  when 
you're  at  your  best,  and  I  do  hope  you'll  believe 
I  have  not  been  quite  at  my  best.  Will  you  let 
me  come  with  you  ?" 

Lottie  did  not  know  whether  he  was  making  fun 
of  her  or  not,  but  she  said,  "  Oh,  it's  a  free  country," 
and  allowed  him  to  go  with  her. 

His  preface  made  the  judge  look  rather  grave; 
but  when  he  came  to  the  joke,  Kenton  laughed  and 
said  it  was  not  bad. 

"  Oh,  but  that  isn't  quite  the  point,"  said  Mr. 
Breckon.  "  The  question  is  whether  I  am  good  in 
repeating  it  to  a  young  lady  who  was  seeking  seri 
ous  instruction  on  a  point  of  theology." 

"  I  don't  know  what  she  would  have  done  with 
the  instruction  if  she  had  got  it,"  said  the  judge, 
dryly,  and  the  young  man  ventured  in  her  behalf : 

"It  would  be  difficult  for  any  one  to  manage, 
perhaps." 

"  Perhaps,"  Kenton  assented,  and  Lottie  could  see 


106  THE   KENTONS 

that  he  was  thinking  Ellen  would  know  what  to  do 
with  it. 

She  resented  that,  and  she  was  in  the  offence 
that  girls  feel  when  their  elders  make  them  the 
subject  of  comment  with  their  contemporaries. 
"  Well,  I'll  leave  you  to  discuss  it  alone.  I'm  going 
to  Ellen,"  she  said,  the  young  man  vainly  following 
her  a  few  paces,  with  apologetic  gurgles  of  laugh 
ter. 

"That's  right,"  her  father  consented,  and  then 
he  seized  the  opening  to  speak  about  Ellen.  "  My 
eldest  daughter  is  something  of  an  invalid,  but  I 
hope  we  shall  have  her  on  deck  before  the  voyage 
is  over.  She  is  more  interested  in  those  matters 
than  her  sister." 

"Oh!"  Mr.  Breckon  interpolated,  in  a  note  of 
sympathetic  interest.  He  could  not  well  do  more. 

It  was  enough  for  Judge  Kenton,  who  launched 
himself  upon  the  celebration  of  Ellen's  gifts  and 
qualities  with  a  simple-hearted  eagerness  which 
he  afterwards  denied  when  his  wife  accused  him  of 
it,  but  justified  as  wholly  safe  in  view  of  Mr.  Breck- 
on's  calling  and  his  obvious  delicacy  of  mind.  It 
was  something  that  such  a  person  would  understand, 
and  Kenton  was  sure  that  he  had  not  unduly  praised 
the  girl.  A  less  besotted  parent  might  have  sus 
pected  that  he  had  not  deeply  interested  his  listener, 
who  seemed  glad  of  the  diversion  operated  by 
Boyne's  coming  to  growl  upon  his  father,  "  Mother's 
bringing  Ellen  up." 

"  Oh,  then,  I  mustn't  keep  your  chair,"  said  the 


THE   KENTONS  107 

minister,  and  he  rose  promptly  from  the  place  he 
had  taken  beside  the  judge,  and  got  himself  away 
to  the  other  side  of  the  ship  before  the  judge  could 
frame  a  fitting  request  for  him  to  stay. 

"If  you  had,"  Mrs.  Kenton  declared,  when  he 
regretted  this  to  her,  "I  don't  know  what  I  would 
have  done.  It's  bad  enough  for  him  to  hear  you 
bragging  about  the  child  without  being  kept  to  help 
take  care  of  her,  or  keep  her  amused,  as  you  call 
it.  I  will  see  that  Ellen  is  kept  amused  without 
calling  upon  strangers."  She  intimated  that  if 
Kenton  did  not  act  with  more  self-restraint  she 
should  do  little  less  than  take  Ellen  ashore,  and 
abandon  him  to  the  voyage  alone.  Under  the 
intimidation  he  promised  not  to  speak  of  Ellen 
again. 

At  luncheon,  where  Mr.  Breckon  again  de 
voted  himself  to  Lottie,  he  and  Ellen  vied  in 
ignoring  each  other  after  their  introduction,  as 
far  as  words  went.  The  girl  smiled  once  or  twice 
at  what  he  was  saying  to  her  sister,  and  his  glance 
kindled  when  it  detected  her  smile.  He  might  be 
supposed  to  spare  her  his  conversation  in  her  own 
interest,  she  looked  so  little  able  to  cope  with  the 
exigencies  of  the  talk  he  kept  going. 

When  he  addressed  her  she  answered  as  if  she 
had  not  been  listening,  and  he  turned  back  to 
Lottie,  ^.fter  luncheon  he  walked  with  her,  and 
their  acquaintance  made  such  a  swift  advance 
that  she  was  able  to  ask  him  if  he  laughed  that 
way  with  everybody. 


108  THE   KENTONS 

He  laughed,  and  then  he  begged  her  pardon  if 
he  had  been  rude. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  laugh  at  so 
much.  When  you  ask  me  a  thing  I  tell  you  just 
what  I  think,  and  it  seems  to  set  you  off  in  a  per 
fect  gale.  Don't  you  expect  people  to  say  what 
they  think?" 

"  I  think  it's  beautiful,"  said  the  young  man, 
going  into  the  gale,  "  and  I've  got  to  expecting  it 
of  you,  at  any  rate.  But — but  it's  always  so  sur 
prising!  It  isn't  what  you  expect  of  people  gener 
ally,  is  it?" 

"  I  don't  expect  it  of  you,"  said  Lottie. 

"  No  ?"  asked  Mr.  Breckon,  in  another  gale.  "  Am 
I  so  uncandid?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  uncandid.  But  I  should 
say  you  were  slippery." 

At  this  extraordinary  criticism  the  young  man 
looked  graver  than  he  had  yet  been  able  to  do  since 
the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance.  He  said,  pres 
ently,  "  I  wish  you  would  explain  what  you  mean 
by  slippery." 

"  You're  as  close  as  a  trap." 

"Keally?" 

"  It  makes  me  tired." 

"If  you're  not  too  tired  now  I  wish  you  would 
say  how." 

"  Oh,  you  understand  well  enough.  You've  got 
me  to  say  what  I  think  about  all  sorts  of  things, 
and  you  haven't  expressed  your  opinion  on  a  single, 
solitary  point." 


THE   KENTONS  109 

Lottie  looked  fiercely  out  to  sea,  turning  her  face 
so  as  to  keep  him  from  peering  around  into  it 
in  the  way  he  had.  For  that  reason,  perhaps,  he 
did  not  try  to  do  so.  He  answered,  seriously:  "I 
believe  you  are  partly  right.  I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
seemed  quite  fair.  Couldn't  you  attribute  my  close 
ness  to  something  besides  my  slipperiness  ?"  He 
began  to  laugh  again.  "Can't  you  imagine  my 
being  interested  in  your  opinions  so  much  more 
than  my  own  that  I  didn't  care  to  express  mine  ?" 

Lottie  said,  impatiently,  "  Oh,  pshaw !"  She  had 
hesitated  whether  to  say,  "  Rats !" 

"But  now,"  he  pursued,  "if  you  will  suggest 
some  point  on  which  I  can  give  you  an  opinion, 
I  promise  solemnly  to  do  so,"  but  he  was  not  very 
solemn  as  he  spoke. 

"  Well,  then,  I  will,"  she  said.  "  Don't  you  think 
it's  very  strange,  to  say  the  least,  for  a  minister 
to  be  always  laughing  so  much?" 

Mr.  Breckon  gave  a  peal  of  delight,  and  answer 
ed,  "Yes,  I  certainly  do."  He  controlled  himself 
so  far  as  to  say:  "Now  I  think  I've  been  pretty 
open  with  you,  and  I  wish  you'd  answer  me  a  ques 
tion.  Will  you?" 

" Well,  I  will— one"  said  Lottie. 

"  It  may  be  two  or  three ;  but  I'll  begin  with  one. 
Why  do  you  think  a  minister  ought  to  be  more 
serious  than  other  men?" 

"  Why  ?  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  know.  You 
wouldn't  laugh  at  a  funeral,  would  you  ?" 

"  I've  been  at  some  funerals  where  it  would  have 


110  THE  KENTONS 

been  a  relief  to  laugh,  and  I've  wanted  to  cry  at 
some  weddings.    But  you  think  it  wouldn't  do  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  wouldn't.  I  should  think  you'd 
know  as  much  as  that,"  said  Lottie,  out  of  patience 
with  him. 

"But  a  minister  isn't  always  marrying  or  bury 
ing  people;  and  in  the  intervals,  why  shouldn't  he 
be  setting  them  an  example  of  harmless  cheerful 
ness?" 

"He  ought  to  be  thinking  more  about  the  other 
world,  I  should  say." 

"  Well,  if  he  believes  there  is  another  world — " 

"Why!    Don't  you?"  she  broke  out  on  him. 

Mr.  Breckon  ruled  himself  and  continued — "as 
strenuously  and  unquestionably  as  he  ought,  he 
has  greater  reason  than  other  men  for  gayety 
through  his  faith  in  a  happier  state  of  being  than 
this.  That's  one  of  the  reasons  I  use  against  my 
self  when  I  think  of  leaving  off  laughing.  Now, 
Miss  Kenton,"  he  concluded,  "  for  such  a  close  and 
slippery  nature,  I  think  I've  been  pretty  frank," 
and  he  looked  round  and  down  into  her  face  with 
a  burst  of  laughter  that  could  be  heard  on  the 
other  side  of  the  ship.  He  refused  to  take  up 
any  serious  topic  after  that,  and  he  returned  to 
his  former  amusement  of  making  her  give  herself 
away. 

That  night  Lottie  came  to  her  room  with  an 
expression  so  decisive  in  her  face  that  Ellen,  fol 
lowing  it  with  vague,  dark  eyes  as  it  showed  itself 
in  the  glass  at  which  her  sister  stood  taking  out 


THE   KENTONS  111 

the  first  dismantling  hairpins  before  going  to  bed, 
could  not  fail  of  something  portentous  in  it. 

"Well,"  said  Lottie,  with  severe  finality,  "I 
haven't  got  any  use  for  that  young  man  from  this 
out.  Of  all  the  tiresome  people,  he  certainly  takes 
the  cake.  You  can  have  him,  Ellen,  if  you  want 
him." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him?"  asked  Ellen,  with 
a  voice  in  sympathy  with  the  slow  movement  of  her 
large  eyes  as  she  lay  in  her  berth,  staring  at  Lottie. 

"  There's  everything  the  matter  that  oughtn't 
to  be.  He's  too  trivial  for  anything.  I  like  a  man 
that's  serious  about  one  thing  in  the  universe,  at 
least,  and  that's  just  what  Mr.  Breckon  isn't."  She 
went  at  such  length  into  his  disabilities  that  by 
the  time  she  returned  to  the  climax  with  which 
she  started  she  was  ready  to  clamber  into  the  upper 
berth;  and  as  she  snapped  the  electric  button  at 
its  head  she  repeated,  "  He's  trivial." 

"Isn't  it  getting  rough?"  asked  Ellen.  "The 
ship  seems  to  be  tipping." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Lottie,  crossly.    "  Good-night." 

If  the  Kev.  Mr.  Breckon  was  making  an  early 
breakfast  in  the  hope  of  sooner  meeting  Lottie,  who 
had  dismissed  him  the  night  before  without  en 
couraging  him  to  believe  that  she  wished  ever  to 
see  him  again,  he  was  destined  to  disappointment. 
The  deputation  sent  to  breakfast  by  the  paradoxical 
family  whose  acquaintance  he  had  made  on  terms 
of  such  forbidding  intimacy,  did  not  include  the 
girl  who  had  frankly  provoked  his  confidence  and 


112  THE   KENTOXS 

severely  snubbed  it.  He  had  left  her  brother  very 
sea-sick  in  their  state-room,  and  her  mother  was 
reported  by  her  father  to  be  feeling  the  motion  too 
much  to  venture  out.  The  judge  was,  in  fact,  the 
only  person  at  table  when  Breckon  sat  down;  but 
when  he  had  accounted  for  his  wife's  absence,  and 
confessed  that  he  did  not  believe  either  of  his 
daughters  was  coming,  Ellen  gainsaid  him  by  ap 
pearing  and  advancing  quite  steadily  along  the 
saloon  to  the  place  beside  him.  It  had  not  gone 
so  far  as  this  in  the  judge's  experience  of  a  neurotic 
invalid  without  his  learning  to  ask  her  no  questions 
about  herself.  He  had  always  a  hard  task  in  re 
fraining,  but  he  had  grown  able  to  refrain,  and 
now  he  merely  looked  unobtrusively  glad  to  see 
her,  and  asked  her  where  Lottie  was. 

"  Oh,  she  doesn't  want  any  breakfast,  she  says. 
Is  momma  sick,  too?  Where's  Boyne?" 

The  judge  reported  as  to  her  mother,  and  Mr. 
Breckon,  after  the  exchange  of  a  silent  salutation 
with  the  girl,  had  a  gleeful  moment  in  describing 
Boyne's  revolt  at  the  steward's  notion  of  gruel. 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you  so  well,  Miss  Kenton,"  he 
concluded. 

"  I  suppose  I  will  be  sick,  too,  if  it  gets  rougher," 
she  said,  and  she  turned  from  him  to  give  a  rather 
compendious  order  to  the  table  steward. 

"  Well,  you've  got  an  appetite,  Ellen/'  her  father 
ventured. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  will  eat  anything,"  she  checked 
him,  with  a  falling  face. 


THE   KENTONS  113 

Breckon  came  to  the  aid  of  the  judge.  "  If  you're 
not  sick  now,  I  prophesy  you  won't  be,  Miss  Ken- 
ton.  It  can't  get  much  rougher,  without  doing 
something  uncommon." 

"  Is  it  a  storm  ?"  she  asked,  indifferently. 

"It's  what  they  call  half  a  gale,  I  believe.  I 
don't  know  how  they  measure  it." 

She  smiled  warily  in  response  to  his  laugh,  and 
said  to  her  father,  "Are  you  going  up  after  break 
fast,  poppa?" 

"  Why,  if  you  want  to  go,  Ellen—" 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  asking  for  that ;  I  am  going  back 
to  Lottie.  But  I  should  think  you  would  like  the 
air.  Won't  it  do  you  good  ?" 

"I'm  all  right,"  said  the  judge,  cheered  by  her 
show  of  concern  for  some  one  else.  "  I  suppose 
it's  rather  wet  on  deck?"  he  referred  himself  to 
Breckon. 

"  Well,  not  very,  if  you  keep  to  the  leeward.  She 
doesn't  seem  a  very  wet  boat." 

"What  is  a  wet  boat?"  Ellen  asked,  without  lift 
ing  her  sad  eyes. 

"Well,  really,  I'm  afraid  it's  largely  a  supersti 
tion.  Passengers  like  to  believe  that  some  boats 
are  less  liable  to  ship  seas — to  run  into  waves — 
than  others;  but  I  fancy  that's  to  give  themselves 
the  air  of  old  travellers." 

She  let  the  matter  lapse  so  entirely  that  he  sup 
posed  she  had  forgotten  it  in  all  its  bearings,  when 
she  asked,  "  Have  you  been  across  many  times  ?" 

"  Not  many — four  or  five." 


114  THE  KENTONS 

"  This  is  our  first  time,"  she  volunteered. 

"I  hope  it  won't  be  your  last.  I  know  you  will 
enjoy  it."  She  fell  listless  again,  and  Breckon 
imagined  he  had  made  a  break.  "  Not,"  he  added, 
with  an  endeavor  for  lightness,  "  that  I  suppose 
you're  going  for  pleasure  altogether.  Women,  now 
adays,  are  above  that,  I  understand.  They  go 
abroad  for  art's  sake,  and  to  study  political  econ 
omy,  and  history,  and  literature — " 

"My  daughter,"  the  judge  interposed,  "will  not 
do  much  in  that  way,  I  hope." 

The  girl  bent  her  head  over  her  plate  and  frowned. 

"Oh,  then,"  said  Breckon,  "I  will  believe  that 
she's  going  for  purely  selfish  enjoyment.  I  should 
like  to  be  justified  in  making  that  my  object  by 
a  good  example." 

Ellen  looked  up  and  gave  him  a  look  that  cut 
him  short  in  his  glad  note.  The  lifting  of  her  eye 
lids  was  like  the  rise  of  the  curtain  upon  some 
scene  of  tragedy  which  was  all  the  more  impressive 
because  it  seemed  somehow  mixed  with  shame. 
This  poor  girl,  whom  he  had  pitied  as  an  invalid, 
was  a  sufferer  from  some  spiritual  blight  more  pa 
thetic  than  broken  health.  He  pulled  his  mind 
away  from  the  conjecture  that  tempted  it  and 
went  on :  "  One  of  the  advantages  of  going  over 
the  fourth  or  fifth  time  is  that  you're  relieved 
from  a  discoverer's  duties  to  Europe.  I've  got. 
absolutely  nothing  before  me  now,  but  at  first 
I  had  to  examine  every  object  of  interest  on  the 
Continent,  and  form  an  opinion  about  thousands 


THE  KENTONS  115 

of  objects  that  had  no  interest  for  me.  I  hope 
Miss  Kenton  will  take  warning  from  me." 

He  had  not  addressed  Ellen  directly,  and  her 
father  answered:  "We  have  no  definite  plans  as 
yet,  but  we  don't  mean  to  overwork  ourselves,  even 
if  we've  come  for  a  rest.  I  don't  know,"  he  added, 
"but  we  had  better  spend  our  summer  in  England. 
It's  easier  getting  about  where  you  know  the  lan 
guage." 

The  judge  seemed  to  refer  his  ideas  to  Breckon 
for  criticism,  and  the  young  man  felt  authorized 
to  say,  "  Oh,  so  many  of  them  know  the  language 
everywhere  now,  that  it's  easy  getting  about  in 
any  country." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  the  judge  vaguely  deferred. 

"  Which,"  Ellen  demanded  of  the  young  man, 
with  a  nervous  suddenness,  "do  you  think  is  the 
most  interesting  country  ?" 

He  found  himself  answering  with  equal  prompt 
ness,  "  Oh,  Italy,  of  course." 

"  Can  we  go  to  Italy,  poppa  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I  shouldn't  advise  you  to  go  there  at  once," 
Breckon  intervened,  smiling.  "  You'd  find  it  pretty 
hot  there  now.  Florence,  or  Rome,  or  Naples — you 
can't  think  of  them." 

"  We  have  it  pretty  hot  in  Central  Ohio,"  said  the 
judge,  with  latent  pride  in  his  home  climate.  "  What 
sort  of  place  is  Holland?" 

"Oh,  delightful!  And  the  boat  goes  right  on 
to  Rotterdam,  you  know." 

"  Yes.    We  had  arranged  to  leave  it  at  Boulogne, 


116  THE   KENTONS 

but  we  could  change.  Do  you  think  your  mother 
would  like  Holland?"  The  judge  turned  to  his 
daughter. 

"  I  think  she  would  like  Italy  better.  She's  read 
more  about  it,"  said  the  girl. 

"Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic"  her  father  sug 
gested. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  she's  read  more  about 
Italy." 

"  Oh,  well,"  Breckon  yielded,  "  the  Italian  lakes 
wouldn't  be  impossible.  And  you  might  find  Venice 
fairly  comfortable." 

"We  could  go  to  Italy,  then,"  said  the  judge  to 
his  daughter,  "  if  your  mother  prefers." 

Breckon  found  the  simplicity  of  this  charming, 
and  he  tasted  a  yet  finer  pleasure  in  the  duplicity; 
for  he  divined  that  the  father  was  seeking  only  to 
let  his  daughter  have  her  way  in  pretending  to 
yield  to  her  mother's  preference. 

It  was  plain  that  the  family's  life  centred,  as 
it  ought,  about  this  sad,  sick  girl,  the  heart  of 
whose  mystery  he  perceived,  on  reflection,  he  had 
not  the  wish  to  pluck  out.  He  might  come  to  know 
it,  but  he  would  not  try  to  know  it;  if  it  offered 
itself  he  might  even  try  not  to  know  it.  He  had 
sometimes  found  it  more  helpful  with  trouble  to 
be  ignorant  of  its  cause. 

In  the  mean  time  he  had  seen  that  these  Kentons 
were  sweet,  good  people,  as  he  phrased  their  qual 
ity  to  himself.  He  had  come  to  terms  of  impersonal 
confidence  the  night  before  with  Boyne,  who  had 


THE   KENTONS  117 

consulted  him  upon  many  more  problems  and  pre 
dicaments  of  life  than  could  have  yet  beset  any 
boy's  experience,  probably  with  the  wish  to  make 
provision  for  any  possible  contingency  of  the  fut 
ure.  The  admirable  principles  which  Boyne  evolved 
for  his  guidance  from  their  conversation  were  for 
mulated  with  a  gravity  which  Breckon  could  out 
wardly  respect  only  by  stifling  his  laughter  in  his 
pillow.  He  rather  liked  the  way  Lottie  had  tried 
to  weigh  him  in  her  balance  and  found  him,  as 
it  were,  of  an  imponderable  levity.  With  his  sense 
of  being  really  very  light  at  most  times,  and  with 
most  people,  he  was  aware  of  having  been  particu 
larly  light  with  Lottie,  of  having  been  slippery,  of 
having,  so  far  as  responding  to  her  frankness  was 
concerned,  been  close.  He  relished  the  unsparing 
honesty  with  which  she  had  denounced  him,  and 
though  he  did  not  yet  know  his  outcast  condition 
with  relation  to  her,  he  could  not  think  of  her 
without  a  smile  of  wholly  disinterested  liking.  He 
did  not  know,  as  a  man  of  earlier  date  would  have 
known,  all  that  the  little  button  in  the  judge's  lapel 
meant;  but  he  knew  that  it  meant  service  in  the 
civil  war,  a  struggle  which  he  vaguely  and  im 
personally  revered,  though  its  details  were  of  much 
the  same  dimness  for  him  as  those  of  the  Eevo- 
lution  and  the  War  of  1812.  The  modest  distrust 
which  had  grown  upon  the  bold  self-confidence  of 
Kenton's  earlier  manhood  could  not  have  been 
more  tenderly  and  reverently  imagined;  and  Breck- 
on's  conjecture  of  things  suffered  for  love's  sake 


118  THE  KENTONS 

against  sense  and  conviction  in  him  were  his  further 
tribute  to  a  character  which  existed,  of  course, 
mainly  in  this  conjecture.  It  appeared  to  him  that 
Kenton  was  held  not  only  in  the  subjection  to  his 
wife's  judgment,  which  befalls,  and  doubtless  be 
comes,  a  man  after  many  years  of  marriage,  but 
that  he  was  in  the  actual  performance  of  more  than 
common  renunciation  of  his  judgment  in  deference 
to  the  good  woman.  She  in  turn,  to  be  sure,  offered 
herself  a  sacrifice  to  the  whims  of  the  sick  girl, 
whose  worst  whim  was  having  no  wish  that  could 
be  ascertained,  and  who  now,  after  two  days  of 
her  mother's  devotion,  was  cast  upon  her  own  re 
sources  by  the  inconstant  barometer.  It  had  be 
come  apparent  that  Miss  Kenton  was  her  father's 
favorite  in  a  special  sense,  and  that  his  partial 
affection  for  her  was  of  much  older  date  than 
her  mother's.  Not  less  charming  than  her  fondness 
for  her  father  was  the  openness  with  which  she  dis 
abled  his  wisdom  because  of  his  partiality  to  her. 


X 


WHEN  they  left  the  breakfast  table  the  first  morn 
ing  of  the  rough  weather,  Breckon  offered  to  go 
on  deck  with  Miss  Kenton,  and  put  her  where  she 
could  see  the  waves.  That  had  been  her  shapeless 
ambition,  dreamily  expressed  with  reference  to  some 
time,  as  they  rose.  Breckon  asked,  "  Why  not  now?" 
and  he  promised  to  place  her  chair  on  deck  where 
she  could  enjoy  the  spectacle  safe  from  any  seas 
the  boat  might  ship.  Then  she  recoiled,  and  she 
recoiled  the  further  upon  her  father's  urgence.  At 
the  foot  of  the  gangway  she  looked  wistfully  up 
the  reeling  stairs,  and  said  that  she  saw  her  shawl 
and  Lottie's  among  the  others  solemnly  swaying 
from  the  top  railing.  "  Oh,  then,"  Breckon  pressed 
her,  "you  could  be  made  comfortable  without  the 
least  trouble." 

"I  ought  to  go  and  see  how  Lottie  is  getting 
along,"  she  murmured. 

Her  father  said  he  would  see  for  her,  and  on 
this  she  explicitly  renounced  her  ambition  of  go 
ing  up.  "You  couldn't  do  anything,"  she  said, 
coldly. 

"If  Miss  Lottie  is  very  sea-sick  she's  beyond 
all  earthly  aid,"  Breckon  ventured.  "  She'd  better 


120  THE  KENTONS 

be  left  to  the  vain  ministrations  of  the  steward 
ess." 

Ellen  looked  at  him  in  apparent  distrust  of  his 
piety,  if  not  of  his  wisdom.  "I  don't  believe  I 
could  get  up  the  stairs,"  she  said. 

"Well,"  he  admitted,  "they're  not  as  steady  as 
land -going  stairs."  Her  father  discreetly  kept 
silence,  and,  as  no  one  offered  to  help  her,  she  be 
gan  to  climb  the  crazy  steps,  with  Breckon  close 
behind  her  in  latent  readiness  for  her  fall. 

From  the  top  she  called  down  to  the  judge,  "  Tell 
momma  I  will  only  stay  a  minute."  But  later,  tuck 
ed  into  her  chair  on  the  lee  of  the  bulkhead,  with 
Breckon  bracing  himself  against  it  beside  her,  she 
showed  no  impatience  to  return.  "  Are  they  never 
higher  than  that?"  she  required  of  him,  with  her 
wan  eyes  critically  on  the  infinite  procession  of  the 
surges. 

"  They  must  be,"  Breckon  answered,  "  if  there's 
any  truth  in  common  report.  I've  heard  of  their 
running  mountains  high.  Perhaps  they  used  rather 
low  mountains  to  measure  them  by.  Or  the  meas 
urements  may  not  have  been  very  exact.  But 
common  report  never  leaves  much  to  the  imagi 
nation." 

"That  was  the  way  at  Niagara,"  the  girl  as 
sented;  and  Breckon  obligingly  regretted  that  he 
had  never  been  there.  He  thought  it  in  good  taste 
that  she  should  not  tell  him  he  ought  to  go.  She 
merely  said,  "  I  was  there  once  with  poppa,"  and 
did  not  press  her  advantage.  "  Do  they  think," 


THE  KENTONS  121 

she    asked,    "that   it's   going   to    be    a    very   long 
voyage  ?" 

"I  haven't  been  to  the  smoking-room  —  that's 
where  most  of  the  thinking  is  done  on  such  points; 
the  ship's  officers  never  seem  to  know  about  it — since 
the  weather  changed.  Should  you  mind  it  greatly  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  care  if  it  never  ended,"  said  the 
girl,  with  such  a  note  of  dire  sincerity  that  Breckon 
instantly  changed  his  first  mind  as  to  her  words 
implying  a  pose.  She  took  any  deeper  implication 
from  them  in  adding,  "I  didn't  know  I  should 
like  being  at  sea." 

"  Well,  if  you're  not  sea-sick,"  he  assented,  "  there 
are  not  many  pleasanter  things  in  life." 

She  suggested,  "  I  suppose  I'm  not  well  enough 
to  be  sea-sick."  Then  she  seemed  to  become  aware 
of  something  provisional  in  his  attendance,  and 
she  said,  "You  mustn't  stay  on  my  account.  I 
can  get  down  when  I  want  to." 

"Do  let  me  stay,"  he  entreated,  "unless  you'd 
really  rather  not,"  and  as  there  was  no  chair  im 
mediately  attainable,  he  crouched  on  the  deck  beside 
hers. 

"It  makes  me  think,"  she  said,  and  he  perceived 
that  she  meant  the  sea,  "of  'the  cold-white,  heavy 
plunging  foam'  in  f The  Dream  of  Fair  Woman.' 
The  words  always  seemed  drenched." 

"Ah,  Tennyson,  yes,"  said  Breckon,  with  a  dis 
position  to  smile  at  the  simple-heartedness  of  the 
literary  allusion.  "Do  young  ladies  read  poetry 
much — in  Ohio?" 


122  THE  KENTONS 

"I  don't  believe  they  do,"  she  answered.  "Do 
they  anywhere?" 

"  That's  one  of  the  things  I  should  like  to  know. 
Is  Tennyson  your  favorite  poet?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  have  any,"  said  Ellen.  "I 
used  to  like  Whittier,  and  Emerson;  and  Longfel 
low,  too." 

"  Used  to !    Don't  you  now  2" 

"  I  don't  read  them  so  much  now,"  and  she  made 
a  pause,  behind  which  he  fancied  her  secret  lurked. 
But  he  shrank  from  knowing  it  if  he  might. 

"You're  all  great  readers  in  your  family,"  he 
suggested,  as  a  polite  diversion. 

"  Lottie  isn't,"  she  answered,  dreamily.  "  She 
hates  it." 

"  Ah,  I  referred  more  particularly  to  the  others," 
said  Breckon,  and  he  began  to  laugh,  and  then 
checked  himself.  "  Your  mother,  and  the  judge — 
and  your  brother — " 

"  Boyne  reads  about  insects,"  she  admitted. 

"  He  told  me  of  his  collection  of  cocoons.  He 
seems  to  be  afraid  it  has  suffered  in  his  ab 
sence." 

"I'm  afraid  it  has,"  said  Ellen,  and  then  re 
mained  silent. 

"  There !"  the  young  man  broke  out,  pointing 
seaward.  "  That's  rather  a  fine  one.  Doesn't 
that  realize  your  idea  of  something  mountains 
high?  Unless  your  mountains  are  very  high  in 
Ohio!" 

"It  is  grand.    And  the  gulf  between!     But  we 


THE   KENTONS  123 

haven't  any  in  our  part.  It's  all  level.  Do  you 
believe  the  tenth  wave  is  larger  than  the  rest?" 

"  Why,  the  difficulty  is  to  know  which  the  tenth 
wave  is,  or  when  to  begin  counting." 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  and  she  added,  vaguely: 
"  I  suppose  it's  like  everything  else  in  that.  We 
have  to  make-believe  before  we  can  believe  any 
thing." 

"  Something  like  an  hypothesis  certainly  seems 
necessary,"  Breckon  assented,  with  a  smile  for  the 
gravity  of  their  discourse.  "  We  shouldn't  have  the 
atomic  theory  without  it."  She  did  not  say  any 
thing,  and  he  decided  that  the  atomic  theory  was 
beyond  the  range  of  her  reading.  He  tried  to  be 
more  concrete.  "  We  have  to  make-believe  in  our 
selves  before  we  can  believe,  don't  we?  And  then 
we  sometimes  find  we  are  wrong!"  He  laughed, 
but  she  asked,  with  tragical  seriousness : 

"And  what  ought  you  to  do  when  you  find  out 
you  are  mistaken  in  yourself  ?" 

"That's  what  I'm  trying  to  decide,"  he  replied. 
"  Sometimes  I  feel  like  renouncing  myself  alto 
gether;  but  usually  I  give  myself  another  chance. 
I  dare  say  if  I  hadn't  been  so  forbearing  I  might 
have  agreed  with  your  sister  about  my  unfitness 
for  the  ministry." 

"With  Lottie?" 

"  She  thinks  I  laugh  too  much." 

"  I  don't  see  why  a  minister  shouldn't  laugh  if  he 
feels  like  it.  And  if  there's  something  to  laugh  at." 

"Ah,  that's  just  the  point!     Is  there  ever  any- 


124:  THE  KENTONS 

thing  to  laugh  at?  If  we  looked  closely  enough 
at  things,  oughtn't  we  rather  to  cry?"  He  laughed 
in  retreat  from  the  serious  proposition.  "  But  it 
wouldn't  do  to  try  making  each  other  cry  instead 
of  laugh,  would  it?  I  suppose  your  sister  would 
rather  have  me  cry." 

"I  don't  believe  Lottie  thought  much  about  it," 
said  Ellen;  and  at  this  point  Mr.  Breckon  yielded 
to  an  impulse. 

"I  should  think  I  had  really  been  of  some  use 
if  I  had  made  you  laugh,  Miss  Kenton." 

"Me?" 

"You  look  as  if  you  laughed  with  your  whole 
heart  when  you  did  laugh." 

She  glanced  about,  and  Breckon  decided  that 
she  had  found  him  too  personal.  "  I  wonder  if  I 
could  walk,  with  the  ship  tipping  so?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  not  far,"  said  Breckon,  with  a  provision 
al  smile,  and  then  he  was  frightened  from  his  irony 
by  her  flinging  aside  her  wraps  and  starting  to 
her  feet.  Before  he  could  scramble  to  his  own,  she 
had  slid  down  the  reeling  promenade  half  to  the 
guard,  over  which  she  seemed  about  to  plunge.  He 
hurled  himself  after  her;  he  could  not  have  done 
otherwise;  and  it  was  as  much  in  a  wild  clutch 
for  support  as  in  a  purpose  to  save  her  that  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  braced  himself  against 
the  ship's  slant.  "  Where  are  you  going  ?  What 
are  you  trying  to  do?"  he  shouted. 

"  I  wanted  to  go  down-stairs,"  she  protested,  cling 
ing  to  him. 


THE  KENTONS  125 

"You  were  nearer  going  overboard,"  he  retorted. 
"You  shouldn't  have  tried."  He  had  not  fully 
formulated  his  reproach  when  the  ship  righted 
herself  with  a  counter-roll  and  plunge,  and  they 
were  swung  staggering  back  together  against  the 
bulkhead.  The  door  of  the  gangway  was  within 
reach,  and  Breckon  laid  hold  of  the  rail  beside  it 
and  put  the  girl  within.  "  Are  you  hurt  ?"  he  asked, 

"No,  no;  I'm  not  hurt,"  she  panted,  sinking  on 
the  cushioned  benching  where  usually  rows  of  semi- 
sea-sick  people  were  lying. 

"I  thought  you  might  have  been  bruised  against 
the  bulkhead,"  he  said.  "Are  you  sure  you're  not 
hurt — that  I  can't  get  you  anything?  From  the 
steward,  I  mean  ?" 

"  Only  help  me  down-stairs,"  she  answered.  "  I'm 
perfectly  well,"  and  Breckon  was  so  willing  on  these 
terms  to  close  the  incident  that  he  was  not  aware 
of  the  bruise  on  his  own  arm,  which  afterwards 
declared  itself  in  several  primitive  colors.  "Don't 
tell  them,"  she  added.  "  I  want  to  come  up  again." 

"Why,  certainly  not,"  he  consented;  but  Boyne 
Kenton,  who  had  been  an  involuntary  witness  of 
the  fact  from  a  point  on  the  forward  promenade, 
where  he  had  stationed  himself  to  study  the  habits 
of  the  stormy  petrel  at  a  moment  so  favorable  to 
the  acquaintance  of  the  petrel  (having  left  a  sea 
sick  bed  for  the  purpose),  was  of  another  mind. 
He  had  been  alarmed,  and,  as  it  appeared  in  the 
private  interview  which  he  demanded  of  his  mother, 
he  had  been  scandalized. 


126  THE  KENTONS 

"  It  is  bad  enough  the  way  Lottie  is  always  going 
on  with  fellows.  And  now,  if  Ellen  is  going  to 
begin!" 

"But,  Boyne,  child,"  Mrs.  Kenton  argued,  in  an 
equilibrium  between  the  wish  to  laugh  at  her  son 
and  the  wish  to  box  his  ears,  "how  could  she  help 
his  catching  her  if  he  was  to  save  her  from  pitch 
ing  overboard?" 

"That's  just  it!  He  will  always  think  that  she 
did  it  just  so  he  would  have  to  catch  her." 

"  I  don't  believe  any  one  would  think  that  of 
Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  gravely. 

"Momma!  You  don't  know  what  these  Eastern 
fellows  are.  There  are  so  few  of  them  that  they're 
used  to  having  girls  throw  themselves  at  them,  and 
they  will  think  anything,  ministers  and  all.  You 
ought  to  talk  to  Ellen,  and  caution  her.  Of  course, 
she  isn't  like  Lottie;  but  if  Lottie's  been  behaving 
her  way  with  Mr.  Breckon,  he  must  suppose  the 
rest  of  the  family  is  like  her." 

"  Boyne,"  said  his  mother,  provisionally,  "  what 
sort  of  person  is  Mr.  Breckon?" 

"  Well,  7  think  he's  kind  of  frivolous." 

"Do  you,  Boyne?" 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  means  any  harm  by  it,  but 
I  don't  like  to  see  a  minister  laugh  so  much.  I 
can't  hardly  get  him  to  talk  seriously  about  any 
thing.  And  I  just  know  he  makes  fun  of  Lottie. 
I  don't  mean  that  he  always  makes  fun  with  me. 
He  didn't  that  night  at  the  vaudeville,  where  I 
first  saw  him." 


THE  KENTONS  127 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  I  told  you  about  it  last 
winter." 

"And  was  Mr.  Breckon  that  gentleman?" 

"Yes;  but  he  didn't  know  who  I  was  when  we 
met  here." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,  Boyne,  I  think  you  might 
have  told  us  before,"  said  his  mother,  in  not  very 
definite  vexation.  "Go  along,  now!" 

Boyne  stood  talking  to  his  mother,  with  his 
hands,  which  he  had  not  grown  to,  largely  planted 
on  the  jambs  of  her  state-room  door.  She  was  keep 
ing  her  berth,  not  so  much  because  she  was  sea-sick 
as  because  it  was  the  safest  place  in  the  unsteady 
ship  to  be  in.  "Do  you  want  me  to  send  Ellen 
to  you?" 

"I  will  attend  to  Ellen,  Boyne,"  his  mother 
snubbed  him.  "How  is  Lottie?" 

"  I  can't  tell  whether  she's  sick  or  not.  I  went 
to  see  about  her  and  she  motioned  me  away,  and 
fairly  screamed  when  I  told  her  she  ought  to  keep 
out  in  the  air.  Well,  I  must  be  going  up  again 
myself,  or — " 

Before  lunch,  Boyne  had  experienced  the  alter 
native  which  he  did  not  express,  although  his  theory 
and  practice  of  keeping  in  the  open  air  ought  to 
have  rendered  him  immune.  Breckon  saw  his  shock 
of  hair,  and  his  large  eyes,  like  Ellen's  in  their 
present  gloom,  looking  out  of  it  on  the  pillow 
of  the  upper  berth,  when  he  went  to  their  room 
to  freshen  himself  for  the  luncheon,  and  found 


128  THE  KENTONS 

Boyne  averse  even  to  serious  conversation.  He 
went  to  lunch  without  him.  None  of  the  Kentons 
were  at  table,  and  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
lunch  alone  when  Ellen  appeared,  and  came  waver 
ing  down  the  aisle  to  the  table.  He  stood  up  to 
help  her,  but  seeing  how  securely  she  stayed  her 
self  from  chair  to  chair  he  sank  down  again. 

"Poppa  is  sick,  too,  now,"  she  replied,  as  if  to 
account  for  being  alone. 

"  And  you're  none  the  worse  for  your  little  prom 
enade?"  The  steward  came  to  Breckon's  left  shoul 
der  with  a  dish,  and  after  an  effort  to  serve  himself 
from  it  he  said,  with  a  slight  gasp,  "  The  other 
side,  please."  Ellen  looked  at  him,  but  did  not 
speak,  and  he  made  haste  to  say :  "  The  doctor 
goes  so  far  as  to  admit  that  it's  half  a  gale.  I 
don't  know  just  what  measure  the  first  officer  would 
have  for  it.  But  I  congratulate  you  on  a  very 
typical  little  storm,  Miss  Kenton ;  perfectly  safe,  but 
very  decided.  A  great  many  people  cross  the  At 
lantic  without  anything  half  as  satisfactory.  There 
is  either  too  much  or  too  little  of  this  sort  of  thing." 
He  went  on  talking  about  the  weather,  and  had  got 
such  a  distance  from  the  point  of  beginning  that 
he  had  cause  to  repent  being  brought  back  to  it 
when  she  asked: 

"Did  the  doctor  think  you  were  hurt?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  ought  to  be  more  ashamed  than 
I  am,"  said  Breckon.  "But  I  thought  I  had  bet 
ter  make  sure.  And  it's  only  a  bruise — " 

"Won't   you  let   me   help   you?"  she   asked,   as 


THE   KENTONS  129 

another  dish  intervened  at  his  right.  "I  hurt 
you." 

Breckon  laughed  at  her  solemn  face  and  voice. 
"If  you'll  exonerate  yourself  first,"  he  answered. 
"  I  couldn't  touch  a  morsel  that  conveyed  confession 
of  the  least  culpability  on  your  part.  Do  you  con 
sent?  Otherwise,  I  pass  this  dish.  And  really  I 
want  some!" 

"Well,"  she  sadly  consented,  and  he  allowed  her 
to  serve  his  plate. 

"More  yet,  please,"  he  said.    "A  lot!" 

"Is  that  enough?" 

"Well,  for  the  first  helping.  And  don't  offer  to 
cut  it  up  for  me!  My  proud  spirit  draws  the  line 
at  cutting  up.  Besides,  a  fork  will  do  the  work 
with  goulash." 

"Is  that  what  it  is?"  she  asked,  but  not  appar 
ently  because  she  cared  to  know. 

"  Unless  you  prefer  to  naturalize  it  as  stew.  It 
seems  to  have  come  in  with  the  Hungarian  bands. 
I  suppose  you  have  them  in — " 

"  Tuskingum  ?  No,  it  is  too  small.  But  I  heard 
them  at  a  restaurant  in  New  York  where  my  brother 
took  us." 

"  In  the  spirit  of  scientific  investigation  ?  It's 
strange  how  a  common  principle  seems  to  pervade 
both  the  Hungarian  music  and  cooking — the  same 
wandering  airs  and  flavors  —  wild,  vague,  lawless 
harmonies  in  both.  Did  you  notice  it?" 

Ellen  shook  her  head.  The  look  of  gloom  which 
seemed  to  Breckon  habitual  in  it  came  back  into 

9 


130  THE   KENTONS 

her  face,  and  he  had  a  fantastic  temptation  to  see 
how  far  he  could  go  with  her  sad  consciousness 
before  she  should  be  aware  that  he  was  experiment 
ing  upon  it.  He  put  this  temptation  from  him, 
and  was  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  comfortable  self- 
righteousness  when  it  returned  in  twofold  power 
upon  him  with  the  coming  of  some  cutlets  which 
capriciously  varied  the  repast. 

"  Ah,  now,  Miss  Kenton,  if  you  were  to  take  pity 
on  my  helplessness!" 

"Why,  certainly!"  She  possessed  herself  of  his 
plate,  and  began  to  cut  up  the  meat  for  him.  "  Am 
I  making  the  bites  too  small?"  she  asked,  with  an 
upward  glance  at  him. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Should  you  think  so?"  he 
returned,  with  a  smile  that  outmeasured  the  mor 
sels  on  the  plate  before  her. 

She  met  his  laughing  eyes  with  eyes  that  ques 
tioned  his  honesty,  at  first  sadly,  and  then  indig 
nantly.  She  dropped  the  knife  and  fork  upon  the 
plate  and  rose. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Kenton !"  he  penitently  entreated. 

But  she  was  down  the  slanting  aisle  and  out  of 
the  reeling  door  before  he  could  decide  what  to  do. 


XI 


IT  seemed  to  Breckon  that  he  had  passed  through 
one  of  those  accessions  of  temperament,  one  of  those 
crises  of  natural  man,  to  put  it  in  the  terms  of  an 
older  theology  than  he  professed,  that  might  justify 
him  in  recurring  to  his  original  sense  of  his  unfit- 
ness  for  his  sacred  calling,  as  he  would  hardly  have 
called  it.  He  had  allowed  his  levity  to  get  the  bet 
ter  of  his  sympathy,  and  his  love  of  teasing  to 
overpower  that  love  of  helping  which  seemed  to 
him  his  chief  right  and  reason  for  being  a  minis 
ter.  To  play  a  sort  of  poor  practical  joke  upon  that 
melancholy  girl  (who  was  also  so  attractive)  was 
not  merely  unbecoming  to  him  as  a  minister ;  it  was 
cruel;  it  was  vulgar;  it  was  ungentlemanly.  He 
could  not  say  less  than  ungentlemanly,  for  that 
seemed  to  give  him  the  only  pang  that  did  him 
any  good.  Her  absolute  sincerity  had  made  her 
such  an  easy  prey  that  he  ought  to  have  shrunk 
from  the  shabby  temptation  in  abhorrence. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  a  woman,  whether  she  wills 
it  or  not,  to  put  a  man  who  is  in  the  wrong  con 
cerning  her  much  further  in  the  wrong  than  he 
could  be  from  his  offence.  Breckon  did  not  know 


132  THE   KENTONS 

whether  he  was  suffering  more  or  less  because  he 
was  suffering  quite  hopelessly,  but  he  was  sure  that 
he  was  suffering  justly,  and  he  was  rather  glad, 
if  anything,  that  he  must  go  on  suffering.  His 
first  impulse  had  been  to  go  at  once  to  Judge  Ken- 
ton  and  own  his  wrong,  and  take  the  consequences 
— in  fact,  invite  them.  But  Breckon  forbore  for 
two  reasons:  one,  that  he  had  already  appeared 
before  the  judge  with  the  confession  of  having  pos 
sibly  made  an  unclerical  joke  to  his  younger  daugh 
ter;  the  other,  that  the  judge  might  not  consider 
levity  towards  the  elder  so  venial;  and  though 
Breckon  wished  to  be  both  punished  and  pardon 
ed,  in  the  final  analysis,  perhaps,  he  most  wished 
to  be  pardoned.  Without  pardon  he  could  see  no 
way  to  repair  the  wrong  he  had  done.  Perhaps  he 
wished  even  to  retrieve  himself  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
or  wished  for  the  chance  of  trying. 

Ellen  went  away  to  her  state-room  and  sat  down 
on  the  sofa  opposite  Lottie,  and  she  lost  herself 
in  a  muse  in  which  she  was  found  by  the  voice  of 
the  sufferer  in  the  berth. 

"If  you  haven't  got  anything  better  to  do  than 
come  in  here  and  stare  at  me,  I  wish  you  would  go 
somewhere  else  and  stare.  I  can  tell  you  it  isn't 
any  joke." 

"  I  didn't  know  I  was  staring  at  you/'  said  Ellen, 
humbly. 

"  It  would  be  enough  to  have  you  rising  and  sink 
ing  there,  without  your  staring  at  all.  If  you're 
going  to  stay,  I  wish  you'd  lie  down.  I  don't  see 


THE   KENTONS  133 

why  you're  so  well,  anyway,  after  getting  us  all 
to  come  on  this  wild-goose  chase." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  Ellen  strickenly  deprecated. 
"But  I'm  not  going  to  stay.  I  just  came  for  my 
things." 

"  Is  that  giggling  simpleton  sick  ?    I  hope  he  is !" 

"Mr.  Breckon?"  Ellen  asked,  though  she  knew 
whom  Lottie  meant.  "  No,  he  isn't  sick.  He  was 
at  lunch." 

"  Was  poppa  ?" 

"  He  was  at  breakfast." 

"  And  momma  ?" 

"  She  and  Boyne  are  both  in  bed.  I  don't  know 
whether  they're  very  sick." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  just  tell  you  what,  Ellen  Ken- 
ton!"  Lottie  sat  up  in  accusal.  "You  were  star 
ing  at  something  he  said;  and  the  first  thing  we 
all  know  it  will  be  another  case  of  Bittridge!" 
Ellen  winced,  but  Lottie  had  no  pity.  "  You  don't 
know  it,  because  you  don't  know  anything,  and  I'm 
not  blaming  you;  but  if  you  let  that  simpleton — 
I  don't  care  if  he  is  a  minister! — go  'round  with 
you  when  your  family  are  all  sick  abed,  you'll  be 
having  the  whole  ship  to  look  after  you." 

"Be  still,  Lottie!"  cried  Ellen.  "You  are- 
awful,"  and,  with  a  flaming  face,  she  escaped  from 
the  state-room. 

She  did  not  know  where  else  to  go,  and  she  beat 
along  the  sides  of  the  corridor  as  far  as  the  dining- 
saloon.  She  had  a  dim  notion  of  trying  to  go  up 
into  the  music-room  above,  but  a  glance  at  the  reel- 


134  THE   KENTONS 

ing  steep  of  the  stairs  forbade.  With  her  wraps 
on  her  arm  and  her  sea-cap  in  her  hand,  she  stood 
clinging  to  the  rail-post. 

Breckon  came  out  of  the  saloon.  "  Oh,  Miss 
Kenton,"  he  humbly  entreated,  "  don't  try  to  go  on 
deck !  It's  rougher  than  ever." 

"  I  was  going  to  the  music-room,"  she  faltered. 

"Let  me  help  you,  then,"  he  said  again.  They 
mounted  the  gangway-steps,  but  this  time  with  his 
hand  under  her  elbow,  and  his  arm  alert  as  before 
in  a  suspended  embrace  against  her  falling. 

She  had  lost  the  initiative  of  her  earlier  advent 
ure;  she  could  only  submit  herself  to  his  guidance. 
But  he  almost  outdid  her  in  meekness,  when  he 
got  her  safely  placed  in  a  corner  whence  she  could 
not  be  easily  flung  upon  the  floor.  "  You  must  have 
found  it  very  stuffy  below;  but,  indeed,  you'd  bet 
ter  not  try  going  out." 

"  Do  you  think  it  isn't  safe  here  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  yes.  As  long  as  you  keep  quiet.  May  I 
get  you  something  to  read?  They  seem  to  have  a 
pretty  good  little  library." 

They  both  glanced  at  the  case  of  books,  from 
which  the  steward-librarian  was  setting  them  the 
example  of  reading  a  volume. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  read.  You  musn't  let  me 
keep  you  from  it." 

"Well,  one  can  read  any  time.  But  one  hasn't 
always  the  chance  to  say  that  one  is  ashamed.  Don't 
pretend  you  don't  understand,  Miss  Kenton!  I 
didn't  really  mean  anything.  The  temptation  to 


THE   KENTOXS  135 

let  you  exaggerate  my  disability  was  too  much  for 
me.  Say  that  you  despise  me !  It  would  be  such  a 
comfort." 

"Weren't  you  hurt?" 

"A  little  —  a  little  more  than  a  little,  but  not 
half  so  much  as  I  deserved — not  to  the  point  of  not 
being  able  to  cut  up  my  meat.  Am  I  forgiven? 
I'll  promise  to  cut  up  all  your  meat  for  you  at 
dinner !  Ah,  I'm  making  it  worse !" 

"  Oh  no.    Please  don't  speak  of  it." 

"  Could  you  forbid  my  thinking  of  it,  too  ?"  He 
did  not  wait  for  her  to  answer.  "  Then  here  goes ! 
One,  two,  three,  and  the  thought  is  banished  for 
ever.  Now  what  shall  we  speak  of,  or  think  of? 
We  finished  up  the  weather  pretty  thoroughly  this 
morning.  And  if  you  have  not  the  weather  and 
the  ship's  run  when  you're  at  sea,  why,  you  are  at 
sea.  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan,  when 
they  stick  those  little  flags  into  the  chart,  to  show 
how  far  we've  come  in  the  last  twenty-four  hours, 
if  they'd  supply  a  topic  for  the  day?  They  might 
have  topics  inscribed  on  the  flags — standard  topics, 
that  would  serve  for  any  voyage.  We  might  leave 
port  with  History — say,  personal  history ;  that  would 
pave  the  way  to  a  general  acquaintance  among  the 
passengers.  Then  Geography,  and  if  the  world  is 
really  round,  and  what  keeps  the  sea  from  spilling. 
Then  Politics,  and  the  comparative  advantages  of 
monarchical  and  republican  governments,  for  in 
ternational  discussion.  Then  Pathology,  and  whether 
you're  usually  sea-sick,  and  if  there  is  any  reliable 


136  THE   KENTONS 

remedy.  Then — for  those  who  are  still  up — Poetry 
and  Fiction;  whether  women  really  like  Kipling, 
and  what  kind  of  novels  you  prefer.  There  ought 
to  be  about  ten  topics.  These  boats  are  sometimes 
very  slow.  Can't  you  suggest  something,  Miss 
Kenton?  There  is  no  hurry!  We've  got  four  to 
talk  over,  for  we  must  bring  up  the  arrears,  you 
know.  And  now  we'll  begin  with  personal  history. 
Your  sister  doesn't  approve  of  me,  does  she?" 

"  My  sister  ?"  Ellen  faltered,  and,  between  the 
conscience  to  own  the  fact  and  the  kindness  to  deny 
it,  she  stopped  altogether. 

"I  needn't  have  asked.  She  told  me  so  herself, 
in  almost  as  many  words.  She  said  I  was  slippery, 
and  as  close  as  a  trap.  Miss  Kenton!  I  have  the 
greatest  wish  to  know  whether  I  affect  you  as  both 
slippery  and  close!" 

"I  don't  always  know  what  Lottie  means — " 

"  She  means  what  she  says ;  and  I  feel  that  I  am 
under  condemnation  till  I  reform.  I  don't  know 
how  to  stop  being  slippery,  but  I'm  determined 
to  stop  being  close.  Will  you  tell  her  that  for  me? 
Will  you  tell  her  that  you  never  met  an  opener, 
franker  person? — of  course,  except  herself! — and 
that  so  far  from  being  light  I  seemed  to  you  par 
ticularly  heavy?  Say  that  I  did  nothing  but  talk 
about  myself,  and  that  when  you  wanted  to  talk 
about  yourself  you  couldn't  get  in  a  word  edgewise. 
Do  try,  now,  Miss  Kenton,  and  see  if  you  can!  I 
don't  want  you  to  invent  a  character  for  me,  quite." 

"  Why,    there's   nothing   to   say   about   me,"   she 


THE  KENTONS  137 

began,  in  compliance  with  his  gayety,  and  then  she 
fell  helpless  from  it. 

"  Well,  then,  about  Tuskingum.  I  should  like  to 
hear  about  Tuskingum,  so  much !" 

"  I  suppose  we  like  it  because  we've  always  lived 
there.  You  haven't  been  much  in  the  West,  have 
you?" 

"Not  as  much  as  I  hope  to  be."  He  had  found 
that  Western  people  were  sometimes  sensitive  con 
cerning  their  section  and  were  prepared  to  resent 
complacent  ignorance  of  it.  "  I've  always  thought 
it  must  be  very  interesting." 

"  It  isn't,"  said  the  girl.  "  At  least,  not  like  the 
East.  I  used  to  be  provoked  when  the  lecturers 
said  anything  like  that;  but  when  you've  been  to 
New  York  you  see  what  they  mean." 

"  The  lecturers  ?"  he  queried. 

"  They  always  stayed  at  our  house  when  they  lect 
ured  in  Tuskingum." 

"Ah!  Oh  yes,"  said  Breckon,  grasping  a  situ 
ation  of  which  he  had  heard  something,  chiefly  sa 
tirical.  "  Of  course.  And  is  your  father — is  Judge 
Kenton  literary  ?  Excuse  me !" 

"  Only  in  his  history.  He's  writing  the  history 
of  his  regiment;  or  he  gets  the  soldiers  to  write 
down  all  they  can  remember  of  the  war,  and  then 
he  puts  their  stories  together." 

"How  delightful!"  said  Breckon.  "And  I  sup 
pose  it's  a  great  pleasure  to  him." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is,"  said  Ellen.  "  Poppa  doesn't 
believe  in  war  any  more." 


138  THE   KENTONS 

" Indeed!"  said  Breckon.  "  That  is  very  interest 
ing." 

"  Sometimes  when  I'm  helping  him  with  it — " 

"  Ah,  I  knew  you  must  help  him  I" 

"And  he  comes  to  a  place  where  there  has  been 
a  dreadful  slaughter,  it  seems  as  if  he  felt  worse 
about  it  than  I  did.  He  isn't  sure  that  it  wasn't 
all  wrong.  He  thinks  all  war  is  wrong  now." 

"  Is  he — has  he  become  a  follower  of  Tolstoy  ?" 

"  He's  read  him.  He  says  he's  the  only  man  that 
ever  gave  a  true  account  of  battles;  but  he  had 
thought  it  all  out  for  himself  before  he  read  Tol 
stoy  about  fighting.  Do  you  think  it  is  right  to 
revenge  an  injury  ?" 

"  Why,  surely  not !"  said  Breckon,  rather  startled. 

"  That  is  what  we  say"  the  girl  pursued.  "  But 
if  some  one  had  injured  you — abused  your  confi 
dence,  and — insulted  you,  what  would  you  do?" 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  I  understand,"  Breckon  began. 
The  inquiry  was  superficially  impersonal,  but  he 
reflected  that  women  are  never  impersonal,  or  the 
sons  of  women,  for  that  matter,  and  he  suspected 
an  intimate  ground.  His  suspicions  were  confirmed 
when  Miss  Kenton  said:  "It  seems  easy  enough  to 
forgive  anything  that's  done  to  yourself;  but  if  it's 
done  to  some  one  else,  too,  have  you  the  right — 
isn't  it  wrong  to  let  it  go  ?" 

"  You  think  the  question  of  justice  might  come 
in  then?  Perhaps  it  ought.  But  what  is  justice? 
And  where  does  your  duty  begin  to  be  divided  ?"  He 
saw  her  following  him  with  alarming  intensity,  and 


THE  KENTONS  139 

he  shrank  from  the  responsibility  before  him.  What 
application  might  not  she  make  of  his  words  in 
the  case,  whatever  it  was,  which  he  chose  not  to 
imagine  ?  "  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Miss  Kenton, 
I'm  not  very  clear  on  that  point — I'm  not  sure  that 
I'm  disinterested." 

"Disinterested?" 

"  Yes ;  you  know  that  /  abused  your  confidence 
at  luncheon;  and  until  I  know  whether  the  wrong 
involved  any  one  else — "  He  looked  at  her  with 
hovering  laughter  in  his  eyes  which  took  wing  at 
the  reproach  in  hers.  "But  if  we  are  to  be  seri 
ous—" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  "  it  isn't  a  serious  matter." 
But  in  the  helplessness  of  her  sincerity  she  could 
not  carry  it  off  lightly,  or  hide  from  him  that  she 
was  disappointed. 

He  tried  to  make  talk  about  other  things.  She 
responded  vaguely,  and  when  she  had  given  herself 
time  she  said  she  believed  she  would  go  to  Lottie; 
she  was  quite  sure  she  could  get  down  the  stairs 
alone.  He  pursued  her  anxiously,  politely,  and  at 
the  head  of  her  corridor  took  leave  of  her  with  a 
distinct  sense  of  having  merited  his  dismissal. 

"  I  see  what  you  mean,  Lottie,"  she  said,  "  about 
Mr.  Breckon." 

Lottie  did  not  turn  her  head  on  the  pillow.  "  Has 
it  taken  you  the  whole  day  to  find  it  out  ?" 


XII 


THE  father  and  the  mother  had  witnessed  with 
tempered  satisfaction  the  interest  which  seemed 
to  be  growing  up  between  Ellen  and  the  young 
minister.  By  this  time  they  had  learned  not  to 
expect  too  much  of  any  turn  she  might  take;  she 
reverted  to  a  mood  as  suddenly  as  she  left  it.  They 
could  not  quite  make  out  Breckon  himself;  he  was 
at  least  as  great  a  puzzle  to  them  as  their  own  child 
was. 

"  It  seems,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  in  their  first  review 
of  the  affair,  after  Boyne  had  done  a  brother's  duty 
in  trying  to  bring  Ellen  under  their  mother's  cen 
sure,  "  that  he  was  the  gentleman  who  discussed  the 
theatre  with  Boyne  at  the  vaudeville  last  winter. 
Boyne  just  casually  mentioned  it.  I  was  so  pro 
voked!" 

"  I  don't  see  what  bearing  the  fact  has,"  the  judge 
remarked. 

"Why,  Boyne  liked  him  very  much  that  night, 
but  now  he  seems  to  feel  very  much  as  Lottie  does 
about  him.  He  thinks  he  laughs  too  much." 

"I  don't  know  that  there's  much  harm  in  that," 
said  the  judge.  "And  I  shouldn't  value  Boyne's 
opinion  of  character  very  highly." 


THE   KENTONS  141 

"  I  value  any  one's  intuitions  —  especially  chil 
dren's." 

"Boyne's  in  that  middle  state  where  he  isn't 
quite  a  child.  And  so  is  Lottie,  for  that  matter." 

"  That  is  true,"  their  mother  assented.  "  And 
we  ought  to  be  glad  of  anything  that  takes  Ellen's 
mind  off  herself.  If  I  could  only  believe  she  was 
forgetting  that  wretch!" 

"  Does  she  ever  speak  of  him  ?" 

"  She  never  hints  of  him,  even.  But  her  mind 
may  be  full  of  him  all  the  time." 

The  judge  laughed  impatiently.  "It  strikes  me 
that  this  young  Mr.  Breckon  hasn't  much  advantage 
of  Ellen  in  what  Lottie  calls  closeness." 

"  Ellen  has  always  been  very  reserved.  It  would 
have  been  better  for  her  if  she  hadn't.  Oh,  I  scarce 
ly  dare  to  hope  anything!  Rufus,  I  feel  that  in 
everything  of  this  kind  we  are  very  ignorant  and 
inexperienced." 

"  Inexperienced !"  Kenton  retorted.  "  I  don't  want 
any  more  experience  of  the  kind  Ellen  has  given 
us." 

"  I  don't  mean  that.  I  mean — this  Mr.  Breckon. 
I  can't  tell  what  attracts  him  in  the  child.  She 
must  appear  very  crude  and  uncultivated  to  him. 
You  needn't  resent  it  so !  I  know  she's  read  a  great 
deal,  and  you've  made  her  think  herself  intellectual 
— but  the  very  simple-heartedness  of  the  way  she 
would  show  out  her  reading  would  make  such  a 
young  man  see  that  she  wasn't  like  the  girls  he 
was  used  to.  They  would  hide  their  intellectual- 


142  THE  KENTONS 

ity,  if  they  had  any.  It's  no  use  your  trying  to 
fight  it,  Mr.  Kenton.  We  are  country  people,  and 
he  knows  it." 

"  Tuskingum  isn't  country  1"  the  judge  declared. 

"  It  isn't  city.  And  we  don't  know  anything  about 
the  world,  any  of  us.  Oh,  I  suppose  we  can  read 
and  write!  But  we  don't  know  the  a,  b,  c  of  the 
things  he  knows.  He  belongs  to  a  kind  of  society 
— of  people — in  New  York  that  I  had  glimpses 
of  in  the  winter,  but  that  I  never  imagined  before. 
They  made  me  feel  very  belated  and  benighted — 
as  if  I  hadn't  read  or  thought  anything.  They 
didn't  mean  to;  but  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  they 
couldn't." 

"You — you've  been  frightened  out  of  your  pro 
priety  by  what  you've  seen  in  New  York,"  said  her 
husband. 

"  I've  been  frightened,  certainly.  And  I  wish 
you  had  been,  too.  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  con 
ceited  about  Ellen.  It  scares  me  to  see  you  so. 
Poor,  sick  thing,  her  looks  are  all  gone!  You  must 
see  that.  And  she  doesn't  dress  like  the  girls  he's 
used  to.  I  know  we've  got  her  things  in  New  York ; 
but  she  doesn't  wear  them  like  a  New-Yorker.  I 
hope  she  isn't  going  in  for  more  unhappiness !" 

At  the  thought  of  this  the  judge's  crest  fell.  "  Do 
you  believe  she's  getting  interested  in  him?"  he 
asked,  humbly. 

"  No,  no ;  I  don't  say  that.  But  promise  me  you 
won't  encourage  her  in  it.  And  don't,  for  pity's 
sake,  brag  about  her  to  him." 


THE   KENTONS  143 

"  No,  I  won't,"  said  the  judge,  and  he  tacitly  re 
pented  having  done  so. 

The  weather  had  changed,  and  when  he  went  up 
from  this  interview  with  his  wife  in  their  state 
room  he  found  a  good  many  people  strung  con- 
valescently  along  the  promenade  on  their  steamer- 
chairs.  These,  so  far  as  they  were  women,  were 
of  such  sick  plainness  that  when  he  came  to  Ellen 
his  heart  throbbed  with  a  glad  resentment  of  her 
mother's  aspersion  of  her  health  and  beauty.  She 
looked  not  only  very  well,  and  very  pretty,  but  in 
a  gay  red  cap  and  a  trig  jacket  she  looked,  to  her 
father's  uncritical  eyes,  very  stylish.  The  glow  left 
his  heart  at  sight  of  the  empty  seat  beside  her. 

"  Where  is  Lottie  ?"  he  asked,  though  it  was  not 
Lottie's  whereabouts  that  interested  him. 

"  Oh,  she's  walking  with  Mr.  Breckon  somewhere," 
said  Ellen. 

"  Then  she's  made  up  her  mind  to  tolerate  him, 
has  she  ?"  the  father  asked,  more  lightly  than  he  felt. 

Ellen  smiled.  "  That  wasn't  anything  very  seri 
ous,  I  guess.  At  any  rate,  she's  walking  with  him." 

"What  book  is  that?"  he  asked,  of  the  volume 
she  was  tilting  back  and  forth  under  her  hand. 

She  showed  it.  "  One  of  his.  He  brought  it  up 
to  amuse  me,  he  said." 

"While  he  was  amusing  himself  with  Lottie," 
thought  the  judge,  in  his  jealousy  for  her.  "It 
is  going  the  same  old  way.  Well!"  What  he  said 
aloud  was,  "  And  is  it  amusing  you  ?" 

"  I  haven't  looked  at  it  yet,"  said  the  girl.    "  It's 


144  THE  KENTONS 

amusing  enough  to  watch  the  sea.  Oh,  poppa!  I 
never  thought  I  should  care  so  much  for  it." 

"  And  you're  glad  we  came  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  think  about  that,  I  just  want 
to  know  that  I'm  here."  She  pressed  his  arm  gently, 
significantly,  where  he  sat  provisionally  in  the  chair 
beside  her,  and  he  was  afraid  to  speak  lest  he  should 
scare  away  the  hope  her  words  gave  him. 

He  merely  said,  "  Well,  well !"  and  waited  for  her 
to  speak  further.  But  her  impulse  had  exhausted 
itself,  as  if  her  spirit  were  like  one  of  those  weak 
forms  of  life  which  spend  their  strength  in  a  quick 
run  or  flight,  and  then  rest  to  gather  force  for 
another.  "Where's  Boyne?"  he  asked,  after  wait 
ing  for  her  to  speak. 

"  He  was  here  a  minute  ago.  He's  been  talking 
with  some  of  the  deck  passengers  that  are  going 
home  because  they  couldn't  get  on  in  America. 
Doesn't  that  seem  pitiful,  poppa?  I  always  thought 
we  had  work  enough  for  the  whole  world." 

"  Perhaps  these  fellows  didn't  try  very  hard  to 
find  it,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  assented. 

"  I  shouldn't  want  you  to  get  to  thinking  that 
it's  all  like  New  York.  Remember  how  comfortable 
everybody  is  in  Tuskingum." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  How  far  off  Tuskingum 
seems !" 

"Well,  don't  forget  about  it;  and  remember  that 
wherever  life  is  simplest  and  purest  and  kindest, 
that  is  the  highest  civilization." 


THE   KENTONS  145 

"  How  much  like  old  times  it  seems  to  hear  you 
talk  that  way,  poppa!  I  should  think  I  was  in  the 
library  at  home.  And  I  made  you  leave  it!"  she 
sighed. 

"Your  mother  was  glad  of  any  excuse.  And  it 
will  do  us  all  good,  if  we  take  it  in  the  right  way," 
said  the  judge,  with  a  didactic  severity  that  did  not 
hide  his  pang  from  her. 

"  Poor  poppa !"  she  said. 

He  went  away,  saying  that  he  was  going  to  look 
Lottie  up.  His  simple  design  was  to  send  Lottie 
to  her  mother,  so  that  Breckon  might  come  back  to 
Ellen ;  but  he  did  not  own  this  to  himself. 

Lottie  returned  from  another  direction  with 
Boyne,  and  Ellen  said,  "  Poppa's  gone  to  look  for 
you." 

"Has  he?"  asked  Lottie,  dropping  decisively  into 
her  chair.  "  Well,  there's  one  thing ;  I  won't  call 
him  poppa  any  more." 

"What  will  you  call  him?"  Boyne  demanded, 
demurely. 

"  I'll  call  him  father,  if  you  want  to  know ;  and 
I'm  going  to  call  momma  mother.  I'm  not  going 
to  have  those  English  laughing  at  us,  and  I  won't 
say  papa  and  mamma.  Everybody  that  knows  any 
thing  says  father  and  mother  now." 

Boyne  kept  looking  from  one  sister  to  another 
during  Lottie's  declaration,  and,  with  his  eyes  on 
Ellen,  he  said,  "It's  true,  Ellen.  All  the  Plump- 
tons  did."  He  was  very  serious. 

Ellen  smiled.    "  I'm  too  old  to  change.    I'd  rather 
10 


146  THE   KENTONS 

seem  queer  in  Europe  than  when  I  get  back  to 
Tuskingum." 

"You  wouldn't  be  queer  there  a  great  while," 
said  Lottie.  "  They'll  all  be  doing  it  in  a  week 
after  I  get  home." 

Upon  the  encouragement  given  him  by  Ellen, 
Boyne  seized  the  chance  of  being  of  the  opposition. 
"Yes,"  he  taunted  Lottie,  "and  you  think  they'll 
say  woman  and  man,  for  lady  and  gentleman,  I 
suppose." 

"  They  will  as  soon  as  they  know  it's  the  thing." 

"Well,  I  know  I  won't,"  said  Boyne.  "I  won't 
call  momma  a  woman." 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  you  do,  Boyne  dear," 
his  sister  serenely  assured  him. 

While  he  stood  searching  his  mind  for  a  suitable 
retort,  a  young  man,  not  apparently  many  years 
his  senior,  came  round  the  corner  of  the  music- 
room,  and  put  himself  conspicuously  in  view  at  a 
distance  from  the  Kentons. 

"  There  he  is,  now"  said  Boyne.  " He  wants 
to  be  introduced  to  Lottie."  He  referred  the  ques 
tion  to  Ellen,  but  Lottie  answered  for  her. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  introduce  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  would  if  he  was  an  American.  But 
you  can't  tell  about  these  English."  He  resumed 
the  dignity  he  had  lost  in  making  the  explanation 
to  Lottie,  and  ignored  her  in  turning  again  to 
Ellen.  "What  do  you  think,  Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  such  things,  Boyne," 
she  said,  shrinking  from  the  responsibility. 


THE   KENTONS  147 

"Well,  upon  my  word!"  cried  Lottie.  "If  Ellen 
can  talk  by  the  hour  with  that  precious  Mr.  Breckon, 
and  stay  up  here  along  with  him,  when  everybody 
else  is  down  below  sick,  I  don't  think  she  can  have 
a  great  deal  to  say  about  a  half-grown  boy  like  that 
being  introduced  to  me." 

"  He's  as  old  as  you  are,"  said  Boyne,  hotly. 

"  Oh !  I  saw  him  associating  with  you,  and  I 
thought  he  was  a  boy,  too.  Pardon  me!"  Lottie 
turned  from  giving  Boyne  his  coup-de-grace,  to 
plant  a  little  stab  in  Ellen's  breast.  "  To  be  sure, 
now  Mr.  Breckon  has  found  those  friends  of  his,  I 
suppose  he  won't  want  to  flirt  with  Ellen  any  more." 

"Ah,  ha,  ha!"  Boyne  broke  in.  "Lottie  is  mad 
because  he  stopped  to  speak  to  some  ladies  he  knew. 
Women,  I  suppose  she'd  call  them." 

"Well,  I  shouldn't  call  him  a  gentleman,  any 
way,"  said  Lottie. 

The  pretty,  smooth-faced,  fresh-faced  young  fel 
low  whom  their  varying  debate  had  kept  in  abey 
ance,  looked  round  at  them  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  leaned  on  the  rail,  and  seemed  to  discover  Boyne 
for  the  first  time.  He  came  promptly  towards  the 
Kentons. 

"  Now,"  said  Lottie,  rapidly, "  you'll  just  have  to." 

The  young  fellow  touched  his  cap  to  the  whole 
group,  but  he  ventured  to  address  only  Boyne. 

"  Every  one  seems  to  be  about  this  morning,"  he 
said,  with  the  cheery  English-rising  inflection. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Boyne,  with  such  snubbing  cold 
ness  that  Ellen's  heart  was  touched. 


148  THE   KENTONS 

"It's  so  pleasant/'  she  said,  "after  that  dark 
weather." 

"Isn't  it?"  cried  the  young  fellow,  gratefully. 
"  One  doesn't  often  get  such  sunshine  as  this  at 
sea,  you  know." 

"My  sister,  Miss  Kenton,  Mr.  Pogis,"  Boyne 
solemnly  intervened.  "And  Miss  Lottie  Ken- 
ton." 

The  pretty  boy  bowed  to  each  in  turn,  but  he 
made  no  pretence  of  being  there  to  talk  with  Ellen. 
"Have  you  been  ill,  too?"  he  actively  addressed 
himself  to  Lottie. 

"No,  just  mad,"  she  said.  "I  wasn't  very  sick, 
and  that  made  it  all  the  worse  being  down  in  a 
poky  state-room  when  I  wanted  to  walk." 

"And  I  suppose  you've  been  making  up  for  lost 
time  this  morning?" 

"  Not  half,"  said  Lottie. 

"Oh,  do  finish  the  half  with  me!" 

Lottie  instantly  rose,  and  flung  her  sister  the 
wrap  she  had  been  holding  ready  to  shed  from  the 
moment  the  young  man  had  come  up.  "  Keep  that 
for  me,  Nell.  Are  you  good  at  catching  ?"  she  asked 
him. 

"Catching?" 

"Yes!  People,"  she  explained,  and  at  a  sudden 
twist  of  the  ship  she  made  a  clutch  at  his  shoul 
der. 

"Oh!    I  think  I  can  catch  you." 

As  they  moved  off  together,  Boyne  said,  "Well, 
upon  my  word!"  but  Ellen  did  not  say  anything 


THE   KENTONS  149 

in  comment  on  Lottie.     After  a  while  she  asked, 
"  Who  were  the  ladies  that  Mr.  Breckon  met  ?" 

"I  didn't  hear  their  names.  They  were  some 
body  he  hadn't  seen  before  since  the  ship  started. 
They  looked  like  a  young  lady  and  her  mother. 
It  made  Lottie  mad  when  he  stopped  to  speak  with 
them,  and  she  wouldn't  wait  till  he  could  get 
through.  Kan  right  away,  and  made  me  come, 
too." 


XIII 

BRECKON  had  not  seen  the  former  interest  between 
himself  and  Ellen  lapse  to  commonplace  acquaint 
ance  without  due  sense  of  loss.  He  suffered  justly, 
but  he  did  not  suffer  passively,  or  without  several 
attempts  to  regain  the  higher  ground.  In  spite  of 
these  he  was  aware  of  being  distinctly  kept  to  the 
level  which  he  accused  himself  of  having  chosen, 
by  a  gentle  acquiescence  in  his  choice  more  fatal 
than  snubbing.  The  advances  that  he  made  across 
the  table,  while  he  still  met  Miss  Kenton  alone 
there,  did  not  carry  beyond  the  rack  supporting 
her  plate.  She  talked  on  whatever  subject  he  start 
ed  with  that  angelic  sincerity  which  now  seemed 
so  far  from  him,  but  she  started  none  herself;  she 
did  not  appeal  to  him  for  his  opinion  upon  any 
question  more  psychological  than  the  barometer; 
and, 

"In  a  tumultuous  privacy  of  storm," 

he  found  himself  as  much  estranged  from  her  as 
if  a  fair-weather  crowd  had  surrounded  them.  He 
did  not  believe  that  she  resented  the  levity  he  had 
shown;  but  he  had  reason  to  fear  that  she  had 
finally  accepted  it  as  his  normal  mood,  and  in  her 
efforts  to  meet  him  in  it,  as  if  he  had  no  other, 


THE  KENTONS  151 

he  read  a  tolerance  that  was  worse  than  contempt. 
When  he  tried  to  make  her  think  differently,  if 
that  was  what  she  thought  of  him,  he  fancied  her 
rising  to  the  notion  he  wished  to  give  her,  and  then 
shrinking  from  it,  as  if  it  must  bring  her  the  dis 
appointment  of  some  trivial  joke. 

It  was  what  he  had  taught  her  to  expect  of  him, 
and  he  had  himself  to  blame.  Now  that  he  had 
thrown  that  precious  chance  away,  he  might  well 
have  overvalued  it.  She  had  certain  provincial 
isms  which  he  could  not  ignore.  She  did  not  know 
the  right  use  of  will  and  shall,  and  would  and 
should,  and  she  pronounced  the  letter  r  with  a 
hard  mid- Western  twist.  Her  voice  was  weak  and 
thin,  and  she  could  not  govern  it  from  being  at 
times  a  gasp  and  at  times  a  drawl.  She  did  not 
dress  with  the  authority  of  women  who  know  more 
of  their  clothes  than  the  people  they  buy  them  of; 
she  did  not  carry  herself  like  a  pretty  girl;  she 
had  not  the  definite  stamp  of  young-ladyism.  Yet 
she  was  undoubtedly  a  lady  in  every  instinct;  she 
wore  with  pensive  grace  the  clothes  which  she 
had  not  subjected  to  her  personal  taste;  and  if  she 
did  not  carry  herself  like  a  pretty  girl,  she  had  a 
beauty  which  touched  and  entreated. 

More  and  more  Breckon  found  himself  studying 
her  beauty — her  soft,  brown  brows,  her  gentle,  dark 
eyes,  a  little  sunken,  and  with  the  lids  pinched 
by  suffering;  the  cheeks  somewhat  thin,  but  not 
colorless;  the  long  chin,  the  clear  forehead,  and 
the  massed  brown  hair,  that  seemed  too  heavy  for 


152  THE  KENTONS 

the  drooping  neck.  It  was  not  the  modern  athletic 
type ;  it  was  rather  of  the  earlier  period,  when  beau 
ty  was  associated  with  the  fragility  despised  by  a 
tanned  and  golfing  generation.  Ellen  Kenton's 
wrists  were  thin,  and  her  hands  long  and  narrow. 
As  he  looked  at  her  across  the  racks  during  those 
two  days  of  storm,  he  had  sometimes  the  wish  to 
take  her  long,  narrow  hands  in  his,  and  beg  her  to 
believe  that  he  was  worthier  her  serious  friendship 
than  he  had  shown  himself.  What  he  was  sure 
of  at  all  times  now  was  that  he  wished  to  know  the 
secret  of  that  patient  pathos  of  hers.  She  was  not 
merely,  or  primarily,  an  invalid.  Her  family  had 
treated  her  as  an  invalid,  but,  except  Lottie,  whose 
rigor  might  have  been  meant  sanatively,  they  treat 
ed  her  more  with  the  tenderness  people  use  with 
a  wounded  spirit;  and  Breckon  fancied  moments 
of  something  like  humility  in  her,  when  she  seemed 
to  cower  from  his  notice.  These  were  not  so  imag 
inable  after  her  family  took  to  their  berths  and 
left  her  alone  with  him,  but  the  touching  mystery  re 
mained,  a  sort  of  bewilderment,  as  he  guessed  it,  a 
surprise  such  as  a  child  might  show  at  some  incom 
prehensible  harm.  It  was  this  grief  which  he  had 
refused  not  merely  to  know — he  still  doubted  his 
right  to  know  it — but  to  share;  he  had  denied  not 
only  his  curiosity  but  his  sympathy,  and  had  exiled 
himself  to  a  region  where,  when  her  family  came 
back  with  the  fair  weather,  he  felt  himself  farther 
from  her  than  before  their  acquaintance  began. 
He  had  made  an  overture  to  its  renewal  in  the 


THE   KENTONS  153 

book  he  lent  her,  and  then  Mrs.  Rasmith  and  her 
daughter  had  appeared  on  deck,  and  borne  down 
upon  him  when  he  was  walking  with  Lottie  Kenton 
and  trying  to  begin  his  self-retrieval  through  her. 
She  had  left  him;  but  they  had  not,  and  in  the 
bonds  of  a  prophet  and  his  followers  he  found  him 
self  bound  with  them  for  much  more  conversation 
than  he  had  often  held  with  them  ashore.  The 
parochial  duties  of  an  ethical  teacher  were  not 
strenuous,  and  Breckon  had  not  been  made  to 
feel  them  so  definitely  before.  Mrs.  Rasmith  held 
that  they  now  included  promising  to  sit  at  her 
table  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage;  but  her  daughter 
succeeded  in  releasing  him  from  the  obligation; 
and  it  was  she  who  smilingly  detached  the  clinging 
hold  of  the  elder  lady.  "  We  mustn't  keep  Mr. 
Breckon  from  his  friends,  mother,"  she  said,  bright 
ly,  and  then  he  said  he  should  like  the  pleasure  of 
introducing  them,  and  both  of  the  ladies  declared 
that  they  would  be  delighted. 

He  bowed  himself  off,  and  half  the  ship's-length 
away  he  was  aware,  from  meeting  Lottie  with  her 
little  Englishman,  that  it  was  she  and  not  Ellen 
whom  he  was  seeking.  As  the  couple  paused  in 
whirring  past  Breckon  long  enough  to  let  Lottie 
make  her  hat  fast  against  the  wind,  he  heard  the 
Englishman  shout: 

"I  say,  that  sister  of  yours  is  a  fine  girl,  isn't 
she?" 

"  She's  a  pretty  good  -  looker,"  Lottie  answered 
back.  "What's  the  matter  with  her  sister?" 


154  THE   KENTONS 

"  Oh,  I  say !"  her  companion  returned,  in  a  trans 
port  with  her  slangy  pertness,  which  Breckon  could 
not  altogether  refuse  to  share. 

He  thought  that  he  ought  to  condemn  it,  and  he 
did  condemn  Mrs.  Kenton  for  allowing  it  in  one 
of  her  daughters,  when  he  came  up  to  her  sitting 
beside  another  whom  he  felt  inexpressibly  incap 
able  of  it.  Mrs.  Kenton  could  have  answered  his 
censure,  if  she  had  known  it,  that  daughters,  like 
sons,  were  not  what  their  mothers  but  what  their 
environments  made  them,  and  that  the  same  en 
vironment  sometimes  made  them  different,  as  he 
saw.  She  could  have  told  him  that  Lottie,  with 
her  slangy  pertness,  had  the  truest  and  best  of 
the  men  she  knew  at  her  feet,  and  that  Ellen, 
with  her  meekness,  had  been  the  prey  of  the  com 
monest  and  cheapest  spirit  in  her  world,  and  so  left 
him  to  make  an  inference  as  creditable  to  his  sex 
as  he  could.  But  this  bold  defence  was  as  far  from 
the  poor  lady  as  any  spoken  reproach  was  from 
him.  Her  daughter  had  to  check  in  her  a  mechani 
cal  offer  to  rise,  as  if  to  give  Breckon  her  place, 
the  theory  and  practice  of  Tuskingum  being  that 
their  elders  ought  to  leave  young  people  alone 
together. 

"  Don't  go,  momma,"  Ellen  whispered.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  go." 

Breckon,  when  he  arrived  before  them,  remained 
talking  on  foot,  and,  unlike  Lottie's  company,  he 
talked  to  the  mother.  This  had  happened  before 
from  him,  but  she  had  not  got  used  to  it,  and 


THE   KENTONS  155 

now  she  deprecated  in  everything  but  words  his 
polite  questions  about  her  sufferings  from  the  rough 
weather,  and  his  rejoicing  that  the  worst  was  prob 
ably  over.  She  ventured  the  hope  that  it  was  so, 
for  she  said  that  Mr.  Kenton  had  about  decided 
to  keep  on  to  Holland,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that 
they  had  had  enough  of  storms.  He  said  he  was 
glad  that  they  were  going  right  on;  and  then 
she  modestly  recurred  to  the  earlier  opinion  he  had 
given  her  husband  that  it  would  be  better  to  spend 
the  rest  of  the  summer  in  Holland  than  to  go 
to  Italy,  as  if  she  wished  to  conform  herself  in  the 
wisdom  of  Mr.  Kenton's  decision.  He  repeated 
his  conviction,  and  he  said  that  if  he  were  in  their 
place  he  should  go  to  The  Hague  as  soon  as  they 
had  seen  Rotterdam,  and  make  it  their  headquarters 
for  the  exploration  of  the  whole  country. 

"You  can't  realize  how  little  it  is;  you  can  get 
anywhere  in  an  hour;  the  difficulty  is  to  keep  in 
side  of  Holland  when  you  leave  any  given  point. 
I  envy  you  going  there." 

Mrs.  Kenton  inferred  that  he  was  going  to 
stop  in  France,  but  if  it  were  part  of  his  close 
ness  not  to  tell,  it  was  part  of  her  pride  not  to 
ask.  She  relented  when  he  asked  if  he  might 
get  a  map  of  his  and  prove  the  littleness  of 
Holland  from  it,  and  in  his  absence  she  could 
not  well  avoid  saying  to  Ellen,  "He  seems  very 
pleasant." 

"Yes;  why  not?"  the  girl  asked. 

"I  don't  know.    Lottie  is  so  against  him." 


156  THE  KENTONS 

"  He  was  very  kind  when  you  were  all  sick." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know  better  than  Lottie; 
you've  seen  him  so  much  more."  Ellen  was  silent, 
and  her  mother  advanced  cautiously,  "I  suppose 
he  is  very  cultivated." 

"How  can  I  tell?    I'm  not." 

"  Why,  Ellen,  I  think  you  are.  Very  few  girls 
have  read  so  much." 

"Yes,  but  he  wouldn't  care  if  I  were  cultivated. 
He  is  like  all  the  rest.  He  would  like  to  joke  and 
laugh.  Well,  I  think  that  is  nice,  too,  and  I  wish 
I  could  do  it.  But  I  never  could,  and  now  I  can't 
try.  I  suppose  he  wonders  what  makes  me  such 
a  dead  weight  on  you  all." 

"You  know  you're  not  that,  Ellen!  You  musn't 
let  yourself  be  morbid.  It  hurts  me  to  have  you  say 
such  things." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  tell  him  why,  and  see  what 
he  would  say." 

"Ellen!" 

"  Why  not  ?  If  he  is  a  minister  he  must  have 
thought  about  all  kinds  of  things.  Do  you  suppose 
he  ever  knew  of  a  girl  before  who  had  been  through 
what  I  have?  Yes,  I  would  like  to  know  what  he 
would  really  say." 

"  I  know  what  he  ought  to  say !  If  he  knew, 
he  would  say  that  no  girl  had  ever  behaved  more 
angelically." 

"Do  you  think  he  would?  Perhaps  he  would 
say  that  if  I  hadn't  been  so  proud  and  silly —  Here 
he  comes !  Shall  we  ask  him  ?" 


THE  KENTONS  157 

Breckon  approached  with  his  map,  and  her 
mother  gasped,  thinking  how  terrible  such  a  thing 
would  be  if  it  could  be;  Ellen  smiled  brightly 
up  at  him.  "Will  you  take  my  chair?  And  then 
you  can  show  momma  your  map.  I  am  going 
down,"  and  while  he  was  still  protesting  she  was 
gone. 

"  Miss  Kenton  seems  so  much  better  than  she 
did  the  first  day,"  he  said,  as  he  spread  the  map 
out  on  his  knees,  and  gave  Mrs.  Kenton  one  end 
to  hold. 

"Yes,"  the  mother  assented,  as  she  bent  over 
to  look  at  it. 

She  followed  his  explanation  with  a  surface  sense, 
while  her  nether  mind  was  full  of  the  worry  of  the 
question  which  Ellen  had  planted  in  it.  What 
would  such  a  man  think  of  what  she  had  been 
through?  Or,  rather,  how  would  he  say  to  her  the 
only  things  that  in  Mrs.  Kenton's  belief  he  could 
say?  How  could  the  poor  child  ever  be  made  to 
see  it  in  the  light  of  some  mind  not  colored  with 
her  family's  affection  for  her?  An  immense,  an 
impossible  longing  possessed  itself  of  the  mother's 
heart,  which  became  the  more  insistent  the  more 
frantic  it  appeared.  She  uttered  "  Yes  "  and  "  No  " 
and  "Indeed"  to  what  he  was  saying,  but  all  the 
time  she  was  rehearsing  Ellen's  story  in  her  inner 
sense.  In  the  end  she  remembered  so  little  what 
had  actually  passed  that  her  dramatic  reverie  seem 
ed  the  reality,  and  when  she  left  him  she  got  her 
self  down  to  her  state-room,  giddy  with  the  shame 


158  THE   KENTONS 

and  fear  of  her  imaginary  self -betrayal.  She  wished 
to  test  the  enormity,  and  yet  not  find  it  so  mon 
strous,  by  submitting  the  case  to  her  husband,  and 
she  could  scarcely  keep  back  her  impatience  at 
seeing  Ellen  instead  of  her  father. 

"Momma,  what  have  you  been  saying  to  Mr. 
Breckon  about  me  ?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  aghast  at  first, 
and  then  astonished  to  realize  that  she  was  speak 
ing  the  simple  truth.  "  He  said  how  much  better 
you  were  looking;  but  I  don't  believe  I  spoke  a 
single  word.  We  were  looking  at  the  map." 

"Very  well,"  Ellen  resumed.  "I  have  been 
thinking  it  all  over,  and  now  I  have  made  up  my 
mind." 

She  paused,  and  her  mother  asked,  tremulously, 
"About  what,  Ellen?" 

"  You  know,  momma.  I  see  it  all  now.  And  don't 
be  afraid  that  I  care  anything  about  him  now  " — 
and  her  mother  knew  that  she  meant  Bittridge — 
"  or  that  I  ever  shall.  That's  gone  forever.  But 
it's  gone,"  she  added,  and  her  mother  quaked  in 
wardly  to  hear  her  reason,  "  because  the  wrong  and 
the  shame  was  all  for  me — for  us.  That's  why  I 
can  forgive  it,  and  forget.  If  we  had  done  any 
thing,  the  least  thing  in  the  world,  to  revenge  our 
selves,  or  to  hurt  him,  then —  Don't  you  see, 
momma  ?" 

"I  think  I  see,  Ellen." 

"Then  I  should  have  to  keep  thinking  about  it, 
and  what  we  had  made  him  suffer,  and  whether  we 


THE   KENTONS  159 

hadn't  given  him  some  claim.  I  don't  wish  ever 
to  think  of  him  again.  You  and  poppa  were  so 
patient  and  forbearing,  all  through;  and  I  thank 
goodness  now  for  everything  you  put  up  with;  only 
I  wish  I  could  have  borne  everything  myself." 

"You  had  enough  to  bear,"  Mrs.  Kenton  said, 
in  tender  evasion. 

"  I'm  glad  that  I  had  to  bear  so  much,  for  bearing 
it  is  what  makes  me  free  now."  She  went  up  to  her 
mother  and  kissed  her,  and  gazed  into  her  face  with 
joyful,  tearful  looks  that  made  her  heart  sink.  /' 


XIV 

MRS.  KENTON  did  not  rest  till  she  had  made  sure 
from  Lottie  and  Boyne  that  neither  of  them  had 
dropped  any  hint  to  Ellen  of  what  happened  to 
Bittridge  after  his  return  to  Tuskingum.  She  did 
not  explain  to  them  why  she  was  so  very  anxious 
to  know,  but  only  charged  them  the  more  solemnly 
not  to  let  the  secret,  which  they  had  all  been  keeping 
from  Ellen,  escape  them. 

They  promised,  but  Lottie  said,  "  She's  got  to 
know  it  some  time,  and  I  should  think  the  sooner 
the  better." 

"  I  will  be  judge  of  that,  Lottie,"  said  her  mother, 
and  Boyne  seized  his  chance  of  inculpating  her 
with  his  friend,  Mr.  Pogis.  He  said  she  was  carrying 
on  awfully  with  him  already;  and  an  Englishman 
could  not  understand,  and  Boyne  hinted  that  he 
would  presume  upon  her  American  freedom. 

"Well,  if  he  does,  I'll  get  you  to  cowhide  him, 
Boyne,"  she  retorted,  and  left  him  fuming  help 
lessly,  while  she  went  to  give  the  young  Englishman 
an  opportunity  of  resuming  the  flirtation  which  her 
mother  had  interrupted. 

With  her  husband  Mrs.  Kenton  found  it  practi 
cable  to  be  more  explicit.  "I  haven't  had  such 


THE   KENTONS  161 

a  load  lifted  off  my  heart  since  I  don't  know  when. 
It  shows  me  what  I've  thought  all  along:  that  Ellen 
hasn't  really  cared  anything  for  that  miserable 
thing  since  he  first  began  going  with  Mrs.  Uphill 
a  year  ago.  When  he  wrote  that  letter  to  her  in 
New  York  she  wanted  to  be  sure  she  didn't,  and 
when  he  offered  himself  and  misbehaved  so  to  both 
of  you,  she  was  afraid  that  she  and  you  were  some 
how  to  blame.  Now  she's  worked  it  out  that  no  one 
else  was  wronged,  and  she  is  satisfied.  It's  made 
her  feel  free,  as  she  says.  But,  oh,  dear  me  I"  Mrs. 
Kenton  broke  off,  "I  talk  as  if  there  was  nothing 
to  bind  her;  and  yet  there  is  what  poor  Richard 
did!  What  would  she  say  if  she  knew  that?  I 
have  been  cautioning  Lottie  and  Boyne,  but  I 
know  it  will  come  out  somehow.  Do  you  think  it's 
wise  to  keep  it  from  her?  Hadn't  we  better  tell 
her?  Or  shall  we  wait  and  see — " 

Kenton  would  not  allow  to  her  or  to  himself  that 
his  hopes  ran  with  hers;  love  is  not  business  with  a 
man  as  it  is  with  a  woman ;  he  feels  it  indecorous  and 
indelicate  to  count  upon  it  openly,  where  she  thinks 
it  simply  a  chance  of  life,  to  be  considered  like  an 
other.  All  that  Kenton  would  say  was,  "I  see  no 
reason  for  telling  her  just  yet.  She  will  have  to  know 
in  due  time.  But  let  her  enjoy  her  freedom  now." 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Kenton  doubtfully  assented. 

The  judge  was  thoughtfully  silent.    Then  he  said : 
"Few  girls  could  have  worked  out  her  problem  as 
Ellen   has.     Think   how   differently   Lottie   would 
have  done  it!" 
11 


162  THE  KENTONS 

"  Lottie  has  her  good  points,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton.  "  And,  of  course,  I  don't  blame  Richard.  There 
are  all  kinds  of  girls,  and  Lottie  means  no  more 
harm  than  Ellen  does.  She's  the  kind  that  can't 
help  attracting;  but  I  always  knew  that  Ellen  was 
attractive,  too,  if  she  would  only  find  it  out.  And 
I  knew  that  as  soon  as  anything  worth  while  took 
up  her  mind  she  would  never  give  that  wretch 
another  thought." 

Kenton  followed  her  devious  ratiocinations  to  a 
conclusion  which  he  could  not  grasp.  "  What  do 
you  mean,  Sarah?" 

"  If  I  only,"  she  explained,  in  terms  that  did 
not  explain,  "  felt  as  sure  of  him  as  I  do  about 
him  I" 

Her  husband  looked  densely  at  her.    "  Bittridge  ?" 

"  No.  Mr.  Breckon.  He  is  very  nice,  Rufus.  Yes, 
he  is!  He's  been  showing  me  the  map  of  Holland, 
and  we've  had  a  long  talk.  He  isn't  the  way  we 
thought — or  I  did.  He  is  not  at  all  clerical,  or 
worldly.  And  he  appreciates  Ellen.  I  don't  sup 
pose  he  cares  so  much  for  her  being  cultivated; 
I  suppose  she  doesn't  seem  so  to  him.  But  he  sees 
how  wise  she  is — how  good.  And  he  couldn't  do 
that  without  being  good  himself!  Rufus!  If  we 
could  only  hope  such  a  thing.  But,  of  course,  there 
are  thousands  after  him!" 

"  There  are  not  thousands  of  Ellens  after  him," 
said  the  judge,  before  he  could  take  time  to  pro 
test.  "  And  I  don't  want  him  to  suppose  that  she 
is  after  him  at  all.  If  he  will  only  interest  her 


THE   KENTONS  163 

and  help  her  to  keep  her  mind  off  herself,  it's  all 
I  will  ask  of  him.  I  am  not  anxious  to  part  with 
her,  now  that  she's  all  ours  again." 

"  Of  course,"  Mrs.  Kenton  soothingly  assented. 
"And  I  don't  say  that  she  dreams  of  him  in  any 
such  way.  She  can't  help  admiring  his  mind.  But 
what  I  mean  is  that  when  you  see  how  he  appreci 
ates  her,  you  can't  help  wishing  he  could  know 
just  how  wise,  and  just  how  good  she  is.  It  did 
seem  to  me  as  if  I  would  give  almost  anything  to 
have  him  know  what  she  had  been  through  with 
that — rapscallion !" 

"Sarah!" 

"  Oh,  you  may  Sarah  me !  But  I  can  tell  you 
what,  Mr.  Kenton:  I  believe  that  you  could  tell 
him  every  word  of  it,  and  only  make  him  appreci 
ate  her  the  more.  Till  you  know  that  about  Ellen, 
you  don't  know  what  a  character  she  is.  I  just 
ached  to  tell  him." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  my  dear,"  said  Kenton. 
"  But  if  you  mean  to  tell  him — " 

"Why,  who  could  imagine  doing  such  a  thing? 
Don't  you  see  that  it  is  impossible?  Such  a  thing 
would  never  have  come  into  my  head  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  some  morbid  talk  of  Ellen's." 

"Of  Ellen's?" 

"  Oh,  about  wanting  to  disgust  him  by  telling 
him  why  she  was  such  a  burden  to  us." 

"  She  isn't  a  burden !" 

"I  am  saying  what  she  said.  And  it  made  me 
think  that  if  such  a  person  could  only  know  the 


164  THE   KENTONS 

high-minded  way  she  had  found  to  get  out  of  her 
trouble!  I  would  like  somebody  who  is  capable  of 
valuing  her  to  value  her  in  all  her  preciousness. 
Wouldn't  you  be  glad  if  such  a  man  as  he  is  could 
know  how  and  why  she  feels  free  at  last?" 

"  I  don't  think  it's  necessary,"  said  Kenton, 
haughtily.  "  There's  only  one  thing  that  could 
give  him  the  right  to  know  it,  and  we'll  wait  for 
that  first.  I  thought  you  said  that  he  was  friv 
olous." 

"  Boyne  said  that,  and  Lottie.  I  took  it  for  grant 
ed,  till  I  talked  with  him  to-day.  He  is  light-heart 
ed  and  gay;  he  likes  to  laugh  and  joke;  but  he  can 
be  very  serious  when  he  wants  to." 

"According  to  all  precedent,"  said  the  judge, 
glumly,  "  such  a  man  ought  to  be  hanging  round 
Lottie.  Everybody  was  that  amounted  to  anything 
in  Tuskingum." 

"  Oh,  in  Tuskingum !  And  who  were  the  men 
there  that  amounted  to  anything?  A  lot  of  young 
lawyers,  and  two  students  of  medicine,  and  some 
railroad  clerks.  There  wasn't  one  that  would  com 
pare  with  Mr.  Breckon  for  a  moment." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  he  can't  really  care 
for  Ellen.  Now  see  here,  Sarah!  You  know  I 
don't  interfere  with  you  and  the  children,  but  I'm 
afraid  you're  in  a  craze  about  this  young  fellow. 
He's  got  these  friends  of  his  who  have  just  turned 
up,  and  we'll  wait  and  see  what  he  does  with  them. 
I  guess  he  appreciates  the  young  lady  as  much  as 
he  does  Ellen." 


THE   KENTONS  J(55 

Mrs.  Kenton's  heart  went  down.  "  She  doesn't 
compare  with  Ellen!"  she  piteously  declared. 

"That's  what  we  think.  He  may  think  differ 
ently." 

Mrs.  Kenton  was  silenced,  but  all  the  more  she 
was  determined  to  make  sure  that  Mr.  Breckon 
was  not  interested  in  Miss  Rasmith  in  any  measure 
or  manner  detrimental  to  Ellen.  As  for  Miss  Ras- 
mith  herself,  Mrs.  Kenton  would  have  had  greater 
reason  to  be  anxious  about  her  behavior  with  Boyne 
than  Mr.  Breckon.  From  the  moment  that  the 
minister  had  made  his  two  groups  of  friends  ac 
quainted,  the  young  lady  had  fixed  upon  Boyne 
as  that  member  of  the  Kenton  group  who  could 
best  repay  a  more  intimate  friendship.  She  was 
polite  to  them  all,  but  to  Boyne  she  was  flattering, 
and  he  was  too  little  used  to  deference  from  ladies 
so  greatly  his-  senior  not  to  be  very  sensible  of  her 
worth  in  offering  it.  To  be  unremittingly  treated 
as  a  grown-up  person  was  an  experience  so  dazzling 
that  his  vision  was  blinded  to  any  possibilities  in 
the  behavior  that  formed  it;  and  before  the  day 
ended  Boyne  had  possessed  Miss  Rasmith  of  all 
that  it  was  important  for  any  fellow-being  to  know 
of  his  character  and  history.  He  opened  his  heart 
to  eyes  that  had  looked  into  others  before  his,  less 
for  the  sake  of  exploiting  than  of  informing  him 
self.  In  the  rare  intelligence  of  Miss  Rasmith  he 
had  found  that  serious  patience  with  his  problems 
which  no  one  else,  not  Ellen  herself,  had  shown; 
and  after  trying  her  sincerity  the  greater  part  of 


166  THE   KENTONS 

the  day  he  put  it  to  the  supreme  test,  one  evening, 
with  a  book  which  he  had  been  reading.  Boyne's 
literature  was  largely  entomological  and  zoological, 
but  this  was  a  work  of  fiction  treating  of  the  fort 
unes  of  a  young  American  adventurer,  who  had 
turned  his  military  education  to  account  in  the 
service  of  a  German  princess.  Her  Highness's  do 
minions  were  not  in  any  map  of  Europe,  and  per 
haps  it  was  her  condition  of  political  incognito 
that  rendered  her  the  more  fittingly  the  prey  of  a 
passion  for  the  American  head  of  her  armies. 
Boyne's  belief  was  that  this  character  veiled  a  real 
identity,  and  he  wished  to  submit  to  Miss  Kasmith 
the  question  whether  in  the  exclusive  circles  of  New 
York  society  any  young  millionaire  was  known 
to  have  taken  service  abroad  after  leaving  West 
Point.  He  put  it  in  the  form  of  a  scoffing  in 
credulity  which  it  was  a  comfort  to  have  her  take 
as  if  almost  hurt  by  his  doubt.  She  said  that  such 
a  thing  might  very  well  be,  and  with  rich  American 
girls  marrying  all  sorts  of  titles  abroad,  it  was 
not  impossible  for  some  brilliant  young  fellow  to 
make  his  way  to  the  steps  of  a  throne.  Boyne  de 
clared  that  she  was  laughing  at  him,  and  she  pro 
tested  that  it  was  the  last  thing  she  should  think 
of  doing ;  she  was  too  much  afraid  of  him.  Then  he 
began  to  argue  against  the  case  supposed  in  the 
romance;  he  proved  from  the  book  itself  that  the 
thing  could  not  happen;  such  a  princess  would  not 
be  allowed  to  marry  the  American,  no  matter  how 
rich  he  was.  She  owned  that  she  had  not  heard  of 


THE  KENTONS  167 

just  such  an  instance,  and  he  might  think  her  very 
romantic;  and  perhaps  she  was;  but  if  the  princess 
was  an  absolute  princess,  such  as  she  was  shown 
in  that  story,  she  held  that  no  power  on  earth  could 
keep  her  from  marrying  the  young  American.  For 
herself  she  did  not  see,  though,  how  the  princess 
could  be  in  love  with  that  type  of  American.  If 
she  had  been  in  the  princess's  place  she  should  have 
fancied  something  quite  different.  She  made  Boyne 
agree  with  her  that  Eastern  Americans  were  all, 
more  or  less,  Europeanized,  and  it  stood  to  reason, 
she  held,  that  a  European  princess  would  want  some 
thing  as  un-European  as  possible  if  she  was  falling 
in  love  to  please  herself.  They  had  some  contention 
upon  the  point  that  the  princess  would  want  a 
Western  American;  and  then  Miss  Easmith,  with  a 
delicate  audacity,  painted  an  heroic  portrait  of 
Boyne  himself  which  he  could  not  recognize  openly 
enough  to  disown;  but  he  perceived  resemblances 
in  it  which  went  to  his  head  when  she  demurely 
rose,  with  a  soft  "  Good-night,  Mr.  Kenton.  I  sup 
pose  I  mustn't  call  you  Boyne  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  do !"  he  entreated.  "  I'm — I'm  not  grown 
up  yet,  you  know." 

"Then  it  will  be  safe,"  she  sighed.  "But  I 
should  never  have  thought  of  that.  I  had  got  so 
absorbed  in  our  argument.  You  are  so  logical,  Mr. 
Kenton — Boyne,  I  mean — thank  you.  You  must 
get  it  from  your  father.  How  lovely  your  sister 
is!" 

"Ellen?" 


168  THE   KENTONS 

"  Well,  no.  I  meant  the  other  one.  But  Miss 
Kenton  is  beautiful,  too.  You  must  be  so  happy 
together,  all  of  you."  She  added,  with  a  rueful 
smile,  "  There's  only  one  of  me !  Good-night." 

Boyne  did  not  know  whether  he  ought  not  in 
humanity,  if  not  gallantry,  to  say  he  would  be  a 
brother  to  her,  but  while  he  stood  considering,  she 
put  out  a  hand  to  him  so  covered  with  rings  that 
he  was  afraid  she  had  hurt  herself  in  pressing  his 
so  hard,  and  had  left  him  before  he  could  decide. 

Lottie,  walking  the  deck,  had  not  thought  of  bid 
ding  Mr.  Pogis  good-night.  She  had  asked  him  half 
a  dozen  times  how  late  it  was,  and  when  he  answer 
ed,  had  said  as  often  that  she  knew  better,  and 
she  was  going  below  in  another  minute.  But  she 
stayed,  and  the  flow  of  her  conversation  supplied 
him  with  occasion  for  the  remarks  of  which  he 
seldom  varied  the  formula.  When  she  said  some 
thing  too  audacious  for  silent  emotion,  he  called 
out,  "  Oh,  I  say!"  If  she  advanced  an  opinion  too 
obviously  acceptable,  or  asked  a  question  upon  some 
point  where  it  seemed  to  him  there  could  not  be 
two  minds,  he  was  ready  with  the  ironical  note, 
"  Well,  rather !"  At  times  she  pressed  her  studies 
of  his  character  and  her  observations  on  his  man 
ner  and  appearance  so  far  that  he  was  forced 
to  protest,  "You  are  so  personal!"  But  these  mo 
ments  were  rare ;  for  the  most  part,  "  Oh,  I  say !" 
and  "Well,  rather!"  perfectly  covered  the  ground. 
He  did  not  generally  mind  her  parody  of  his  poverty 
of  phrase,  but  once,  after  she  had  repeated  "  Well, 


THE  KENTONS  169 

rather !"  and  "  Oh,  I  say !"  steadily  at  everything  he 
said  for  the  whole  round  of  the  promenade  they 
were  making,  he  intimated  that  there  were  occasions 
when,  in  his  belief,  a  woman's  abuse  of  the  freedom 
generously  allowed  her  sex  passed  the  point  of 
words. 

"And  when  it  passes  the  point  of  words,"  she 
taunted  him,  "  what  do  you  do  ?" 

"You  will  see,"  he  said,  "if  it  ever  does,"  and 
Lottie  felt  justified  by  her  inference  that  he  was 
threatening  to  kiss  her,  in  answering: 

"And  if  I  ever  see,  I  will  box  your  ears." 

"  Oh,  I  say!"  he  retorted.  "  I  should  like  to  have 
you  try." 

He  had  ideas  of  the  rightful  mastery  of  a  man  in 
all  things,  which  she  promptly  pronounced  brutal, 
and  when  he  declared  that  his  father's  conduct  tow 
ards  his  wife  and  children  was  based  upon  these 
ideas,  she  affirmed  the  superiority  of  her  own 
father's  principles  and  behavior.  Mr.  Pogis  was 
too  declared  an  admirer  of  Judge  Kenton  to  ques 
tion  his  motives  or  method  in  anything,  and  he 
could  only  generalize,  "  The  Americans  spoil  their 
women." 

"Well,  their  women  are  worth  it,"  said  Lottie, 
and  after  allowing  the  paradox  time  to  penetrate 
his  intelligence,  he  cried  out,  in  a  glad  transport : 

"  Oh,  I  say!" 

At  the  moment  Boyne's  intellectual  seance  with 
Miss  Rasmith  was  coming  to  an  end.  Lottie  had 
tacitly  invited  Mr.  Pogis  to  prolong  the  compari- 


170  THE   KENTONS 

son  of  English  and  American  family  life  by  stopping 
in  front  of  a  couple  of  steamer-chairs,  and  con 
fessing  that  she  was  tired  to  death.  They  sat  down, 
and  he  told  her  about  his  mother,  whom,  although 
his  father's  subordinate,  he  seemed  to  be  rather 
fonder  of.  He  had  some  elder  brothers,  most  of 
them  in  the  colonies,  and  he  had  himself  been  out 
to  America  looking  at  something  his  father  had 
found  for  him  in  Buffalo. 

"You  ought  to  come  to  Tuskingum,"  said  Lot 
tie. 

"Is  that  a  large  place?"  Mr.  Pogis  asked.  "As 
large  as  Buffalo?" 

"  Well,  no,"  Lottie  admitted.  "  But  it's  a  growing 
place.  And  we  have  the  best  kind  of  times." 

"  What  kind  ?"  The  young  man  easily  consented 
to  turn  the  commercial  into  a  social  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  picnics,  and  river  parties,  and  buggy-rides, 
and  dances." 

"  I'm  keen  on  dancing,"  said  Mr.  Pogis.  "  I  hope 
they'll  give  us  a  dance  on  board.  Will  you  put  me 
down  for  the  first  dance?" 

"  I  don't  care.  Will  you  send  me  some  flowers  ? 
The  steward  must  have  some  left  in  the  refriger 
ator." 

"  Well,  rather !  I'll  send  you  a  spray,  if  he's  got 
enough." 

"A  spray?    What's  a  spray?" 

"  Oh,  I  say !  My  sister  always  wears  one.  It's 
a  long  chain  of  flowers  reachin'  from  your  shoulder 
diagonally  down  to  your  waist." 


THE   KENTONS  171 

"  Does  your  sister  always  have  her  sprays  sent 
to  her?" 

"Well,  rather!  Don't  they  send  flowers  to  girls 
for  dances  in  the  States?" 

"Well,  rather!    Didn't  I  just  ask  you?" 

This  was  very  true,  and  after  a  moment  of  baffle 
Mr.  Pogis  said,  in  generalization,  "If  you  go  with 
a  young  lady  in  a  party  to  the  theatre  you  send  her 
a  box  of  chocolates." 

"  Only  when  you  go  to  the  theatre !  I  couldn't 
get  enough,  then,  unless  you  asked  me  every  night," 
said  Lottie,  and  while  Mr.  Pogis  was  trying  to 
choose  between  "  Oh,  I  say !"  and  something  spe 
cific,  like,  "I  should  like  to  ask  you  every  night," 
she  added,  "And  what  would  happen  if  you  sent 
a  girl  a  spray  for  the  theatre  and  chocolates  for 
a  dance?  Wouldn't  it  jar  her?" 

Now,  indeed,  there  was  nothing  for  him  but  to 
answer,  "  Oh,  I  say !" 

"  Well,  say,  then !  Here  comes  Boyne,  and  I  must 
go.  Well,  Boyne,"  she  called,  from  the  dark  nook 
where  she  sat,  to  her  brother  as  he  stumbled  near, 
with  his  eyes  to  the  stars,  "has  the  old  lady  re 
tired?" 

He  gave  himself  away  finely.  "What  old 
lady!" 

"Well,  maybe  at  your  age  you  don't  consider 
her  very  old.  But  I  don't  think  a  boy  ought  to  sit 
up  mooning  at  his  grandmother  all  night.  I  know 
Miss  Kasmith's  no  relation,  if  that's  what  you're 
going  to  say!" 


172  THE   KENTONS 

"Oh,  I  say!"  Mr.  Pogis  chuckled.  "You  are 
so  personal." 

"Well,  rather!"  said  Lottie,  punishing  his  pre 
sumption.  "But  I  don't  think  it's  nice  for  a  kid, 
even  if  she  isn't." 

"  Kid !"  Boyne  ground  through  his  clenched  teeth. 

By  this  time  Lottie  was  up  out  of  her  chair 
and  beyond  repartee  in  her  flight  down  the  gang 
way  stairs.  She  left  the  two  youngsters  con 
fronted. 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  lemon-squash?"  asked 
Mr.  Pogis,  respecting  his  friend's  wounded  dignity, 
and  ignoring  Lottie  and  her  offence. 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  Boyne,  in  gloomy 
acquiescence. 


XV 


FEW  witnesses  of  the  fact  that  Julia  Easmith 
and  her  mother  had  found  themselves  on  the  same 
steamer  with  the  Kev.  Hugh  Breckon  would  have 
been  of  such  a  simple  mind  as  to  think  they  were 
there  by  accident,  if  they  had  also  been  witnesses 
of  their  earlier  history.  The  ladies  could  have  urged 
that  in  returning  from  California  only  a  few  days 
before  the  Amstel  sailed,  and  getting  a  state-room 
which  had  been  unexpectedly  given  up,  they  had 
some  claim  to  a  charitable  interpretation  of  their 
behavior,  but  this  plea  could  not  have  availed  them 
with  any  connoisseur  of  women.  Besides,  it  had 
been  a  matter  of  notoriety  among  such  of  Mr.  Breck- 
on's  variegated  congregation  as  knew  one  another 
that  Mrs.  Rasmith  had  set  her  heart  on  him,  if 
Julia  had  not  set  her  cap  for  him.  In  that  pied 
flock,  where  every  shade  and  dapple  of  doubt,  from 
heterodox  Jew  to  agnostic  Christian,  foregathered, 
as  it  had  been  said,  in  the  misgiving  of  a  blessed 
immortality,  the  devotion  of  Mrs.  Rasmith  to  the 
minister  had  been  almost  a  scandal.  Nothing  had 
saved  the  appearance  from  this  character  but  Mr. 
Breckon's  open  acceptance  of  her  flatteries  and 


174  THE  KENTONS 

hospitalities;  this  was  so  frank,  and  the  behavior 
of  Julia  herself  so  judicious  under  the  circum 
stances,  that  envy  and  virtue  were,  if  not  equally 
silenced,  equally  baffled.  So  far  from  pretending  not 
to  see  her  mother's  manoauvres,  Julia  invited  public 
recognition  of  them;  in  the  way  of  joking,  which 
she  kept  within  the  limits  of  filial  fondness,  she 
made  fun  of  her  mother's  infatuation  to  Breckon 
himself,  and  warned  him  against  the  moment  when 
her  wiles  might  be  too  much  for  him.  Before  other 
people  she  did  not  hesitate  to  save  him  from  her 
mother,  so  that  even  those  who  believed  her  in  the 
conspiracy  owned  that  no  girl  could  have  managed 
with  more  cleverness  in  a  situation  where  not  every 
one  would  have  refused  to  be  placed.  In  this  situ 
ation  Julia  Rasmith  had  the  service  of  a  very  clear 
head,  and  as  was  believed  by  some,  a  cool  heart; 
if  she  and  her  mother  had  joint  designs  upon  the 
minister,  hers  was  the  ambition,  and  her  mother's 
the  affection  that  prompted  them.  She  was  a  long, 
undulant  girl,  of  a  mixed  blondness  that  left  you 
in  doubt,  after  you  had  left  her,  whether  her  hair 
or  her  complexion  were  not  of  one  tint;  but  her 
features  were  good,  and  there  could  be  no  question 
of  her  captivating  laugh,  and  her  charming  mouth, 
which  she  was  always  pulling  down  with  demure 
irony.  She  was  like  her  mother  in  her  looks,  but 
her  indolent,  drolling  temperament  must  have  been 
from  her  father,  whose  memory  was  lost  in  that 
antiquity  which  swallows  up  the  record  of  so  many 
widows'  husbands,  and  who  could  not  have  left 


THE   KENTONS  175 

her  what  was  left  of  her  mother's  money,  for  none 
of  it  had  ever  been  his.  It  was  still  her  mother's, 
and  it  was  supposed  to  be  the  daughter's  chief 
attraction.  There  must,  therefore,  have  been  a  good 
deal  of  it,  for  those  who  were  harshest  with  the 
minister  did  not  believe  that  a  little  money  would 
attract  him.  Not  that  they  really  thought  him 
mercenary;  some  of  his  people  considered  him  gay 
to  the  verge  of  triviality,  but  there  were  none  that 
accused  him  of  insincerity.  They  would  have  liked 
a  little  more  seriousness  in  him,  especially  when 
they  had  not  much  of  their  own,  and  would  have 
had  him  make  up  in  severity  of  behavior  for  what 
he  lacked,  and  what  they  wished  him  to  lack,  in 
austerity  of  doctrine. 

The  Amstel  had  lost  so  much  time  in  the  rough 
weather  of  her  first  days  out  that  she  could  not 
make  it  up  with  her  old-fashioned  single  screw. 
She  was  at  best  a  ten -day  boat,  counting  from 
Sandy  Hook  to  Boulogne,  and  she  had  not  been 
four  days  out  when  she  promised  to  break  her 
record  for  slowness.  Three  days  later  Miss  Ras- 
mith  said  to  Breckon,  as  he  took  the  chair  which 
her  mother  agilely  abandoned  to  him  beside  her: 
"  The  head  steward  says  it  will  be  a  twelve-day  trip, 
and  our  bedroom  steward  thinks  more.  What  ia 
the  consensus  of  opinion  in  the  smoking-room? 
Where  are  you  going,  mother?  Are  you  planning 
to  leave  Mr.  Breckon  and  me  alone  again?  It  isn't 
necessary.  We  couldn't  get  away  from  each  other 
if  we  tried,  and  all  we  ask —  Well,  I  suppose  age 


176  THE  KENTONS 

must  be  indulged  in  its  little  fancies,"  she  called 
after  Mrs.  Kasmith. 

Breckon  took  up  the  question  she  had  asked  him. 
"  The  odds  are  so  heavily  in  favor  of  a  fifteen- 
days'  run  that  there  are  no  takers." 

"  Now  you  are  joking  again,"  she  said.  "  I 
thought  a  sea-voyage  might  make  you  serious." 

"  It  has  been  tried  before.  Besides,  it's  you  that 
I  want  to  be  serious." 

"What  about?    Besides,  I  doubt  it." 

"  About  Boyne." 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  were  going  to  say  some  one 
else." 

"  No,  I  think  that  is  very  well  settled." 

"You'll  never  persuade  my  mother,"  said  Miss 
Rasmith,  with  a  low,  comfortable  laugh. 

"  But  if  you  are  satisfied — " 

"  She  will  have  to  resign  herself  ?  Well,  perhaps. 
But  why  do  you  wish  me  to  be  serious  about 
Boyne?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  amuses  you.  But  that  doesn't 
seem  a  very  good  reason  why  you  should  amuse 
yourself  with  him." 

"No?    Why  not?" 

"Well,  because  the  poor  boy  is  in  earnest;  and 
you're  not  exactly — contemporaries." 

"  Why,  how  old  is  Boyne  ?"  she  asked,  with  affect 
ed  surprise. 

"About  fifteen,  I  think,"  said  Breckon,  gravely. 

"  And  I'm  but  a  very  few  months  past  thirty.  I 
don't  see  the  great  disparity.  But  he  is  merely  a 


THE   KENTONS  177 

brother  to  me — an  elder  brother — and  he  gives  me 
the  best  kind  of  advice." 

"  I  dare  say  you  need  it,  but  all  the  same,  I  am 
afraid  you  are  putting  ideas  into  his  head." 

"  Well,  if  he  began  it  ?  If  he  put  them  in  mine 
first?" 

She  was  evidently  willing  that  he  should  go  fur 
ther,  and  create  the  common  ground  between  them 
that  grows  up  when  one  gives  a  reproof  and  the 
other  accepts  it ;  but  Breckon,  whether  he  thought 
that  he  had  now  done  his  duty,  and  need  say  no  more, 
or  because  he  was  vexed  with  her,  left  the  subject. 

"  Mrs.  Rasmith  says  you  are  going  to  Switzer 
land  for  the  rest  of  the  summer." 

"Yes,  to  Montreux.  Are  you  going  to  spend  it 
in  Paris?" 

"  I'm  going  to  Paris  to  see.  I  have  had  some 
thoughts  of  Etretat;  I  have  cousins  there." 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  go  to  the  sea-side.  But  this 
happens  to  be  one  of  the  summers  when  nothing 
but  mountains  can  save  my  mother's  life.  Shall 
you  get  down  to  Rome  before  you  go  back?" 

"  I  don't  know.  If  I  sail  from  Naples  I  shall 
probably  pass  through  Rome." 

"You  had  better  stop  off.  We  shall  be  there  in 
November,  and  they  say  Rome  is  worth  seeing." 
She  laughed  demurely.  "  That  is  what  Boyne  un 
derstands.  He's  promised  to  use  his  influence  with 
his  family  to  let  him  run  down  to  see  us  there,  if 
he  can't  get  them  all  to  come.  You  might  offer 

to  personally  conduct  them." 
12 


178  THE   KENTONS 

"Yes,"  said  Breckon,  with  the  effect  of  clo- 
ture.  "  Have  you  made  many  acquaintances  on 
board?" 

"What!  Two  lone  women?  You  haven't  intro 
duced  us  to  any  but  the  Kentons.  But  I  dare  say 
they  are  the  best.  The  judge  is  a  dear,  and  Mrs. 
Kenton  is  everything  that  is  motherly  and  matronly. 
Boyne  says  she  is  very  well  informed,  and  knows  all 
about  the  reigning  families.  If  he  decides  to  marry 
into  them,  she  can  be  of  great  use  in  saving  him 
from  a  mesalliance.  I  can't  say  very  much  for 
Miss  Lottie.  Miss  Lottie  seems  to  me  distinctly  of 
the  minx  type.  But  that  poor,  pale  girl  is  adorable. 
I  wish  she  liked  me." 

"  What  makes  you  think  she  doesn't  like  you  ?" 
Breckon  asked. 

"  What  ?  Women  don't  require  anything  to  con 
vince  them  that  other  women  can't  bear  them.  They 
simply  know  it.  I  wonder  what  has  happened  to 
her?" 

"Why  do  you  think  anything  has  happened  to 
her?" 

"  Why  ?  Well,  girls  don't  have  that  air  of  melan 
choly  absence  for  nothing.  She  is  brooding  upon 
something,  you  may  be  sure.  But  you  have  had 
so  many  more  opportunities  than  I!  Do  you  mean 
that  you  haven't  suspected  a  tragical  past  for 
her?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Breckon,  a  little  restively, 
"  that  I  have  allowed  myself  to  speculate  about  her 
past." 


THE   KENTONS  179 

"  That  is,  you  oughtn't  to  have  allowed  yourself 
to  do  so.  Well,  there  I  agree  with  you.  But  a  wom 
an  may  do  so  without  impertinence,  and  I  am  sure 
that  Miss  Kenton  has  a  story.  I  have  watched 
her,  and  her  face  has  told  me  everything  but  the 
story." 

Breckon  would  not  say  that  some  such  revelation 
had  been  made  to  him,  and  in  the  absence  of  an 
answer  from  him  Miss  Rasmith  asked,  "  Is  she 
cultivated,  too?" 

"Too?" 

"Like  her  mother." 

"  Oh !  I  should  say  she  had  read  a  good  dsal. 
And  she's  bookish,  yes,  in  a  simple-hearted  kind  of 
way." 

"  She  asks  you  if  you  have  read  '  the  book  of  the 
year,'  and  whether  you  don't  think  the  heroine  is 
a  beautiful  character?" 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that.  But  if  you  care  to  be 
serious  about  her — " 

"Oh,  I  do!" 

"I  doubt  it.  Then,  I  should  say  that  she  seems 
to  have  grown  up  in  a  place  where  the  interests 
are  so  material  that  a  girl  who  was  disposed  to  be 
thoughtful  would  be  thrown  back  upon  reading  for 
her  society  more  than  in  more  intellectual  centres 
— if  there  are  such  things.  She  has  been  so  much 
with  books  that  she  does  not  feel  odd  in  speaking 
of  them  as  if  they  were  the  usual  topics  of  con 
versation.  It  gives  her  a  certain  quaintness." 


180  THE   KENTONS 

"And  that  is  what  constitutes  her  charm?" 

"I  didn't  know  that  we  were  speaking  of  her 
charm." 

"  No,  that  is  true.  But  I  was  thinking  of  it. 
She  fascinates  me.  Are  they  going  to  get  off  at 
Boulogne?" 

"  No,  they  are  going  on  to  Rotterdam." 

"  To  be  sure !  Boyne  told  me.  And  are  yon 
going  on  with  them?" 

"I  thought  we  talked  of  my  going  to  Paris." 
Breckon  looked  round  at  her,  and  she  made  a 
gesture  of  deprecation. 

"Why,  of  course!  How  could  I  forget?  But 
I'm  so  much  interested  in  Miss  Kenton  that  I  can't 
think  of  anything  else." 

"Not  even  of  Miss  Rasmith?" 

"Not  even  of  Miss  Rasmith.  I  know  that  she 
has  a  history,  and  that  it's  a  sad  one."  She  paused 
in  ironical  hesitation.  "  You've  been  so  good  as  to 
caution  me  about  her  brother — and  I  never  can 
be  grateful  enough — and  that  makes  me  almost  free 
to  suggest — " 

She  stopped  again,  and  he  asked,  hardily, 
"What?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  It  isn't  for  me  to  remind  my  pas 
tor,  my  ghostly  adviser "  —  she  pulled  down  her 
mouth  and  glanced  at  him  demurely — "and  I  will 
only  offer  the  generalization  that  a  girl  is  never 
so  much  in  danger  of  having  her  heart  broken 
as  when  she's  had  it  broken —  Oh,  are  you  leaving 
me?"  she  cried,  as  Breckon  rose  from  his  chair. 


THE  KENTONS  181 

"  Well,  then,  send  Boyne  to  me."  She  broke  into  a 
laugh  as  he  faltered.  "  Are  you  going  to  sit  down 
again?  That  is  right.  And  I  won't  talk  any  more 
about  Miss  Kenton." 

"I  don't  mind  talking  of  her,"  said  Breckon. 
"Perhaps  it  will  even  be  well  to  do  so  if  you 
are  in  earnest.  Though  it  strikes  me  that  you  have 
rather  renounced  the  right  to  criticise  me." 

"Now,  is  that  logical?  It  seems  to  me  that  in 
putting  myself  in  the  attitude  of  a  final  friend  at 
the  start,  and  refusing  to  be  anything  more,  I 
have  established  my  right  to  criticise  you  on  the 
firmest  basis.  I  can't  possibly  be  suspected  of  in 
terested  motives.  Besides,  you've  just  been  criti 
cising  me,  if  you  want  a  woman's  reason." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  Why,  I  had  finished.  That's  the  amusing  part. 
I  should  have  supposed  that  I  could  go  on  forever 
about  Miss  Kenton,  but  I  have  nothing  to  go  upon. 
She  has  kept  her  secret  very  well,  and  so  have 
the  rest  of  them.  You  think  I  might  have  got  it 
out  of  Boyne?  Perhaps  I  might,  but  you  know  I 
have  my  little  scruples.  I  don't  think  it  would 
be  quite  fair,  or  quite  nice." 

"  You  are  scrupulous.  And  I  give  you  credit 
for  having  been  more  delicate  than  I've  been." 

"You  don't  mean  you've  been  trying  to  find 
it  out!" 

"Ah,  now  I'm  not  sure  about  the  superior  deli 
cacy." 

"  Oh,  how  good!"  said  Miss  Rasmith.    "  What  a 


182  THE   KENTONS 

pity  you  should  be  wasted  in  a  calling  that  limits 
you  so  much." 

"You  call  it  limiting?  I  didn't  know  but  I 
had  gone  too  far." 

"Not  at  all!  You  know  there's  nothing  I  like 
so  much  as  those  little  digs." 

"  I  had  forgotten.  Then  you  won't  mind  my  say 
ing  that  this  surveillance  seems  to  me  rather  more 
than  I  have  any  right  to  from  you." 

"  How  exquisitely  you  put  it !  Who  else  could 
have  told  me  to  mind  my  own  business  so  delight 
fully?  Well,  it  isn't  my  business.  I  acknowledge 
that,  and  I  spoke  only  because  I  knew  you  would 
be  sorry  if  you  had  gone  too  far.  I  remembered 
our  promise  to  be  friends." 

She  threw  a  touch  of  real  feeling  into  her  tone, 
and  he  responded,  "  Yes,  and  I  thank  you  for  it, 
though  it  isn't  easy." 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him,  and,  as  he  ques- 
tioningly  took  it,  she  pressed  his  with  animation. 
"  Of  course  it  isn't !  Or  it  wouldn't  be  for  any 
other  man.  But  don't  you  suppose  I  appre 
ciate  that  supreme  courage  of  yours?  There  is 
nobody  else — nobody! — who  could  stand  up  to  an 
impertinence  and  turn  it  to  praise  by  such  humil 
ity." 

"Don't  go  too  far,  or  I  shall  be  turning  your 
praise  to  impertinence  by  my  humility.  You're 
quite  right,  though,  about  the  main  matter.  I 
needn't  suppose  anything  so  preposterous  as  you 
suggest,  to  feel  that  people  are  best  left  alone 


THE   KENTONS  183 

to  outlive  their  troubles,  unless  they  are  of  the  most 
obvious  kind." 

"  Now,  if  I  thought  I  had  done  anything  to  stop 
you  from  offering  that  sort  of  helpfulness  which 
makes  you  a  blessing  to  everybody,  I  should  never 
forgive  myself." 

"  Nothing  so  dire  as  that,  I  believe.  But  if  you've 
made  me  question  the  propriety  of  applying  the 
blessing  in  all  cases,  you  may  have  done  a  very 
good  thing." 

Miss  Easmith  was  silent  and  apparently  serious. 
After  a  moment  she  said,  "And  I,  for  my  part, 
promise  to  let  poor  little  Boyne  alone." 

Breckon  laughed.  "Don't  burlesque  it!  Besides, 
I  haven't  promised  anything." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  Miss  Rasmith,  and  she 
laughed,  too. 


XVI 

IN  one  of  those  dramatic  reveries  which  we  all 
hold  with  ourselves  when  fortune  has  pressingly 
placed  us,  Ellen  Kenton  had  imagined  it  possible 
for  her  to  tell  her  story  to  the  man  who  had  so 
gently  and  truly  tried  to  be  her  friend.  It  was 
mostly  in  the  way  of  explaining  to  him  how  she 
was  unworthy  of  his  friendship  that  the  story  was 
told,  and  she  fancied  telling  it  without  being  scan 
dalized  at  violating  the  conventions  that  should 
have  kept  her  from  even  dreaming  of  such  a  thing. 
It  was  all  exalted  to  a  plane  where  there  was  no 
question  of  fit  or  unfit  in  doing  it,  but  only  the 
occasion;  and  he  would  never  hear  of  the  unworthi- 
ness  which  she  wished  to  ascribe  to  herself.  Some 
times  he  mournfully  left  her  when  she  persisted, 
left  her  forever,  and  sometimes  he  refused,  and  re 
mained  with  her  in  a  sublime  kindness,  a  noble 
amity,  lofty  and  serene,  which  did  not  seek  to  be 
come  anything  else.  In  this  case  she  would  break 
from  her  reveries  with  self-accusing  cries,  under 
her  breath,  of  "Silly,  silly!  Oh,  how  disgusting!" 
And  if  at  that  moment  Breckon  were  really  coming 
up  to  sit  by  her,  she  would  blush  to  her  hair,  and 
wish  to  run  away,  and  failing  the  force  for  this, 


THE  KENTONS  185 

would  sit  cold  and  blank  to  his  civilities,  and  have 
to  be  skilfully  and  gradually  talked  back  to  self- 
respect  and  self -tolerance. 

The  recurrence  of  these  reveries  and  their  con 
sequence  in  her  made  it  difficult  for  him  to  put 
in  effect  the  promise  he  had  given  himself  in  Miss 
Rasmith's  presence.  If  Ellen  had  been  eager  to 
welcome  his  coming,  it  would  have  been  very  simple 
to  keep  away  from  her,  but  as  she  appeared  anxious 
to  escape  him,  and  had  to  be  entreated,  as  it  were, 
to  suffer  his  society,  something  better  than  his  curi 
osity  was  piqued,  though  that  was  piqued,  too.  He 
believed  that  he  saw  her  lapsing  again  into  that 
morbid  state  from  which  he  had  seemed  once  able 
to  save  her,  and  he  could  not  help  trying  again. 
He  was  the  more  bound  to  do  so  by  the  ironical 
observance  of  Miss  Easmith,  who  had  to  be  defied 
at  first,  and  then  propitiated;  certainly,  when  she 
saw  him  apparently  breaking  faith  with  her,  she 
had  a  right  to  some  sort  of  explanation,  but  certain 
ly  also  she  had  no  right  to  a  blind  and  unreasoning 
submission  from  him.  His  embarrassment  was 
heightened  by  her  interest  in  Miss  Kenton,  whom, 
with  an  admirable  show  of  now  finding  her  safe 
from  Breckon's  attractions,  she  was  always  wishing 
to  study  from  his  observation.  What  was  she  really 
like?  The  girl  had  a  perfect  fascination  for  her; 
she  envied  him  his  opportunities  of  knowing  her, 
and  his  privileges  of  making  that  melancholy  face 
light  up  with  that  heart-breaking  smile,  and  of 
banishing  that  delicious  shyness  with  which  she 


186  THE   KENTONS 

always  seemed  to  meet  him.  Miss  Rasmith  had 
noticed  it;  how  could  she  help  noticing  it? 

Breckon  wished  to  himself  that  she  had  been 
able  to  help  noticing  it,  or  were  more  capable  of 
minding  her  own  business  than  she  showed  herself, 
and  his  heart  closed  about  Ellen  with  a  tenderness 
that  was  dangerously  indignant.  At  the  same  time 
he  felt  himself  withheld  by  Miss  Rasmith's  witness 
from  being  all  to  the  girl  that  he  wished  to  be, 
and  that  he  now  seemed  to  have  been  in  those  first 
days  of  storm,  while  Miss  Rasmith  and  her  mother 
were  still  keeping  their  cabin.  He  foresaw  that  it 
would  end  in  Miss  Rasmith's  sympathetic  nature 
not  being  able  to  withhold  itself  from  Ellen's  need 
of  cheerful  companionship,  and  he  was  surprised 
as  little  as  he  was  pleased,  one  morning,  when  he 
came  to  take  the  chair  beside  her  to  find  Miss  Ras 
mith  in  it,  talking  and  laughing  to  the  girl,  who 
perversely  showed  herself  amused.  Miss  Rasmith 
made  as  if  to  offer  him  the  seat,  but  he  had  to 
go  away  disappointed,  after  standing  long  enough 
before  them  to  be  aware  that  they  were  suspending 
some  topic  while  he  stayed. 

He  naturally  supposed  the  topic  to  be  himself, 
but  it  was  not  so,  or  at  least  not  directly  so.  It 
was  only  himself  as  related  to  the  scolding  he  had 
given  Miss  Rasmith  for  trifling  with  the  innocence 
of  Boyne,  which  she  wished  Miss  Kenton  to  under 
stand  as  the  effect  of  a  real  affection  for  her  brother. 
She  loved  all  boys,  and  Boyne  was  simply  the  most 
delightful  creature  in  the  world.  She  went  on  to 


THE   KENTONS  187 

explain  how  delightful  he  was,  and  she  showed  such 
an  appreciation  of  the  infantile  sweetness  mingled 
with  the  mature  severity  of  Boyne's  character  that 
Ellen  could  not  help  being  pleased  and  won.  She 
told  some  little  stories  of  Boyne  that  threw  a  light 
also  on  their  home  life  in  Tuskingum,  and  Miss 
Easmith  declared  herself  perfectly  fascinated,  and 
wished  that  she  could  go  and  live  in  Tuskingum. 
She  protested  that  she  should  not  find  it  dull ;  Boyne 
alone  would  be  entertainment  enough;  and  she  fig 
ured  a  circumstance  so  idyllic  from  the  hints  she 
had  gathered,  that  Ellen's  brow  darkened  in  silent 
denial,  and  Miss  Kasmith  felt  herself,  as  the  chil 
dren  say  in  the  game,  very  hot  in  her  proximity 
to  the  girl's  secret.  She  would  have  liked  to  know 
it,  but  whether  she  felt  that  she  could  know  it  when 
she  liked  enough,  or  whether  she  should  not  be 
so  safe  with  Breckon  in  knowing  it,  she  veered  sud 
denly  away,  and  said  that  she  was  so  glad  to  have 
Boyne's  family  know  the  peculiar  nature  of  her  de 
votion,  which  did  not  necessarily  mean  running 
away  with  him,  though  it  might  come  to  that.  She 
supposed  she  was  a  little  morbid  about  it  from  what 
Mr.  Breckon  had  been  saying;  he  had  a  conscience 
that  would  break  the  peace  of  a  whole  community, 
though  he  was  the  greatest  possible  favorite,  not 
only  with  his  own  congregation,  which  simply  wor 
shipped  him,  but  with  the  best  society,  where  he 
was  in  constant  request. 

It  was  not  her  fault  if  she  did  not  overdo  these 
phases  of  his  contemporary  history,  but  perhaps  it 


188  THE   KENTONS 

was  all  true  about  the  number  of  girls  who  were 
ready  and  willing  to  marry  him.  It  might  even 
be  true,  though  she  had  no  direct  authority  for 
saying  it,  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  never  to 
marry,  and  that  was  the  reason  why  he  felt  himself 
so  safe  in  being  the  nicest  sort  of  friend.  He  was 
safe,  Miss  Rasmith  philosophized,  but  whether  other 
people  were  so  safe  was  a  different  question.  There 
were  girls  who  were  said  to  be  dying  for  him;  but 
of  course  those  things  were  always  said  about  a 
handsome  young  minister.  She  had  frankly  taken 
him  on  his  own  ground,  from  the  beginning,  and 
she  believed  that  this  was  what  he  liked.  At  any 
rate,  they  had  agreed  that  they  were  never  to  be 
anything  but  the  best  of  friends,  and  they  always 
had  been. 

Mrs.  Kenton  came  and  shyly  took  the  chair  on 
Miss  Rasmith's  other  side,  and  Miss  Rasmith  said 
they  had  been  talking  about  Mr.  Breckon,  and  she 
repeated  what  she  had  been  saying  to  Ellen.  Mrs. 
Kenton  assented  more  openly  than  Ellen  could  to 
her  praises,  but  when  she  went  away,  and  her  daugh 
ter  sat  passive,  without  comment  or  apparent  in 
terest,  the  mother  drew  a  long,  involuntary  sigh. 

"Do  you  like  her,  Ellen?" 

"  She  tries  to  be  pleasant,  I  think." 

"  Do  you  think  she  really  knows  much  about  Mr. 
Breckon?" 

"Oh  yes.   Why  not?   She  belongs  to  his  church." 

"  He  doesn't  seem  to  me  like  a  person  who  would 
have  a  parcel  of  girls  tagging  after  him." 


THE  KENTONS  189 

"  That  is  what  they  do  in  the  East,  Boyne  says." 
"  I  wish  she  would  let  Boyne  alone.    She  is  mak 
ing  a  fool  of  the  child.    He's  round  with  her  every 
moment.    I  think  she  ought  to  be  ashamed,  such  an 
old  thing!" 

Ellen  chose  to  protest,  or  thought  it  fair  to  do 
so.  "  I  don't  believe  she  is  doing  him  any  harm. 
She  just  lets  him  talk  out,  and  everybody  else 
checks  him  up  so.  It  was  nice  of  her  to  come 
and  talk  with  me,  when  we  had  all  been  keeping 
away  from  her.  Perhaps  he  sent  her,  though.  She 
says  they  have  always  been  such  good  friends  be 
cause  she  wouldn't  be  anything  else  from  the  be 
ginning." 

"  I  don't  see  why  she  need  have  told  you  that." 
"  Oh,  it  was  just  to  show  he  was  run  after.     I 
wonder  if  he  thinks  we  are  running  after  him? 
Momma,  I  am  tired  of  him!     I  wish  he  wouldn't 
speak  to  me  any  more." 

"Why!  do  you  really  dislike  him,  Ellen?" 
"No,  not  dislike  him.     But  it  tires  me  to  have 
him  trying  to  amuse  me.    Don't  you  understand  ?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  said  yes,  she  understood,  but  she 
was  clear  only  of  the  fact  that  Ellen  seemed  flushed 
and  weak  at  that  moment.  She  believed  that  it  was 
Miss  Kasmith  and  not  Mr.  Breckon  who  was  to 
blame,  but  she  said :  "  Well,  you  needn't  worry  about 
it  long.  It  will  only  be  a  day  or  two  now  till  we 
get  to  Boulogne,  and  then  he  will  leave  us.  Hadn't 
you  better  go  down  now,  and  rest  awhile  in  your 
berth?  I  will  bring  your  things." 


190  THE   KENTONS 

Ellen  rose,  pulling  her  wraps  from  her  skirts 
to  give  them  to  her  mother.  A  voice  from  behind 
said  between  their  meeting  shoulders :  "  Oh,  are 
you  going  down?  I  was  just  coming  to  beg  Miss 
Kenton  to  take  a  little  walk  with  me,"  and  they 
looked  round  together  and  met  Breckon's  smiling 
face. 

"I'm  afraid,"  Mrs.  Kenton  began,  and  then,  like 
a  well-trained  American  mother,  she  stopped  and 
left  the  affair  to  her  daughter. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  get  down  with  them, 
momma  ?"  the  girl  asked,  and  somehow  her  mother's 
heart  was  lightened  by  her  evasion,  not  to  call  it 
uncandor.  It  was  at  least  not  morbid,  it  was  at 
least  like  other  girls,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  imparted 
what  comfort  there  was  in  it  to  the  judge,  when  he 
asked  where  she  had  left  Ellen. 

"  Not  that  it's  any  use,"  she  sighed,  when  she 
had  seen  him  share  it  with  a  certain  shamefaced- 
ness.  "  That  woman  has  got  her  grip  on  him,  and 
she  doesn't  mean  to  let  go." 

Kenton  understood  Miss  Rasmith  by  that  woman ; 
but  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  so  easily  cast 
down.  This  was  one  of  the  things  that  provoked 
Mrs.  Kenton  with  him;  when  he  had  once  taken 
hope  he  would  not  abandon  it  without  reason.  "  I 
don't  see  any  evidence  of  her  having  her  grip  on 
him.  I've  noticed  him,  and  he  doesn't  seem  atten 
tive  to  her.  I  should  say  he  tried  to  avoid  her. 
Pie  certainly  doesn't  avoid  Ellen." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  Rufus?" 


THE  KENTONS  191 

"  What  are  you  ?  You  know  we'd  both  be  glad 
if  he  fancied  her." 

"Well,  suppose  we  would?  I  don't  deny  it.  He 
is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  gentlemen  I  ever  saw; 
one  of  the  kindest  and  nicest." 

"He's  more  than  that,"  said  the  judge.  "I've 
been  sounding  him  on  various  points,  and  I  don't 
see  where  he's  wrong.  Of  course,  I  don't  know  much 
about  his  religious  persuasion,  if  it  is  one,  but  I 
think  I'm  a  pretty  fair  judge  of  character,  and  that 
young  man  has  character.  He  isn't  a  light  person, 
though  he  likes  joking  and  laughing,  and  he  ap 
preciates  Ellen." 

"  Yes,  so  do  we.  And  there's  about  as  much  pros 
pect  of  his  marrying  her.  Rufus,  it's  pretty  hard! 
She's  just  in  the  mood  to  be  taken  with  him,  but 
she  won't  let  herself,  because  she  knows  it's  of  no 
use.  That  Miss  Rasmith  has  been  telling  her  how 
much  he  is  run  after,  and  I  could  see  that  that 
settled  it  for  Ellen  as  plainly  as  if  she  said  so. 
More  plainly,  for  there's  enough  of  the  girl  in  her 
to  make  her  say  one  thing  when  she  means  an 
other.  She  was  just  saying  she  was  sick  of  him,  and 
never  wanted  to  speak  to  him  again,  when  he 
came  up  and  asked  her  to  walk,  and  she  went 
with  him  instantly.  I  knew  what  she  meant. 
She  wasn't  going  to  let  him  suppose  that  any 
thing  Miss  Rasmith  had  said  was  going  to  change 
her." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  judge,  "I  don't  see  what 
you're  scared  at." 


192  THE  KENTON3 

"  I'm  not  scared.  But,  oh,  Rufus !  It  can't  come 
to  anything !  There  isn't  time !"  An  hysterical  hope 
trembled  in  her  asseveration  of  despair  that  made 
him  smile. 

"  I  guess  if  time's  all  that's  wanted — " 

"  He  is  going  to  get  off  at  Boulogne." 

"  Well,  we  can  get  off  there,  too." 

"  Rufus,  if  you  dare  to  think  of  such  a  thing !" 

"  I  don't.  But  Europe  isn't  so  big  but  what  he 
can  find  us  again  if  he  wants  to." 

"  Ah,  if  he  wants  to !" 

Ellen  seemed  to  have  let  her  mother  take  her 
languor  below  along  with  the  shawls  she  had  given 
her.  Buttoned  into  a  close  jacket,  and  skirted  short 
for  the  sea,  she  pushed  against  the  breeze  at  Breck- 
on's  elbow  with  a  vigor  that  made  him  look  his 
surprise  at  her.  Girl-like,  she  took  it  that  something 
was  wrong  with  her  dress,  and  ran  herself  over  with 
an  uneasy  eye. 

Then  he  explained :  "  I  was  just  thinking  how 
much  you  were  like  Miss  Lottie — if  you'll  excuse 
my  being  so  personal.  And  it  never  struck  me  be 
fore." 

"  I  didn't  suppose  we  looked  alike,"  said  Ellen. 

"No,  certainly.  I  shouldn't  have  taken  you  for 
sisters.  And  yet,  just  now,  I  felt  that  you  were 
like  her.  You  seem  so  much  stronger  this  morning 
— perhaps  it's  that  the  voyage  is  doing  you  good. 
Shall  you  be  sorry  to  have  it  end?" 

"Shall  you?     That's  the  way  Lottie  would  an- 


THE  KENTONS  193 

Breckon  laughed.  "Yes,  it  is.  I  shall  be  very 
sorry.  I  should  be  willing  to  have  it  rough  again, 
if  that  would  make  it  longer.  I  liked  it's  being 
rough.  We  had  it  to  ourselves."  He  had  not 
thought  how  that  sounded,  but  if  it  sounded  par 
ticular,  she  did  not  notice  it. 

She  merely  said,  "  I  was  surprised  not  to  be  sea 
sick,  too." 

"And  should  you  be  willing  to  have  it  rough 
again?" 

"  You  wouldn't  see  anything  more  of  your  friends, 
then." 

"Ah,  yes;  Miss  Rasmith.  She  is  a  great  talker. 
Did  you  find  her  interesting?" 

"  She  was  very  interesting." 

"Yes?    What  did  she  talk  about?" 

Ellen  realized  the  fact  too  late  to  withhold  it. 
"  Why,  about  you." 

"  And  was  that  what  made  her  interesting  ?" 

"  Now,  what  would  Lottie  say  to  such  a  thing 
as  that?"  asked  Ellen,  gayly. 

"  Something  terribly  cutting,  I'm  afraid.  But 
don't  you!  From  you  I  don't  want  to  believe  I  de 
serve  it,  no  matter  what  Miss  Rasmith  said  of 
me." 

"  Oh,  she  didn't  say  anything  very  bad.  Unless 
you  mind  being  a  universal  favorite." 

"  Well,  it  makes  a  man  out  rather  silly." 

"  But  you  can't  help  that." 

"  Now  you  remind  me  of  Miss  Lottie  again !" 

"But  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Ellen,  blushing 

13 


194  THE   KENTONS 

and  laughing.  "  I  hope  you  wouldn't  think  I  could 
be  so  pert." 

"  I  wouldn't  think  anything  that  wasn't  to  your 
praise,"  said  Breckon,  and  a  pause  ensued,  after 
which  the  words  he  added  seemed  tame  and  flat. 
"  I  suspect  Miss  Rasmith  has  been  idealizing  the 
situation.  At  any  rate,  I  shouldn't  advise  you  to 
trust  her  report  implicitly.  I'm  at  the  head  of  a 
society,  you  know,  ethical  or  sociological,  or  altru 
istic,  whatever  you  choose  to  call  it,  which  hasn't 
any  very  definite  object  of  worship,  and  yet  meets 
every  Sunday  for  a  sort  of  worship;  and  I  have 
to  be  in  the  pulpit.  So  you  see  ?" 

Ellen  said,  "  I  think  I  understand,"  with  a  temp 
tation  to  smile  at  the  ruefulness  of  hi.s  appeal. 

Breckon  laughed  for  her.  "That's  the  mischief 
and  the  absurdity  of  it.  But  it  isn't  so  bad  as  it 
seems.  They're  really  most  of  them  hard  -  headed 
people;  and  those  that  are  not  couldn't  make  a 
fool  of  a  man  that  nature  hadn't  begun  with.  Still, 
I'm  not  very  well  satisfied  with  my  work  among 
them — that  is,  I'm  not  satisfied  with  myself."  He 
was  talking  soberly  enough,  and  he  did  not  find 
that  she  was  listening  too  seriously.  "  I'm  going 
away  to  see  whether  I  shall  come  back."  He  looked 
at  her  to  make  sure  that  she  had  taken  his  meaning, 
and  seemed  satisfied  that  she  had.  "I'm  not  sure 
that  Fm  fit  for  any  sort  of  ministry,  and  I  may 
spend  the  winter  in  England  trying  to  find  out. 
I  was  at  school  in  England,  you  know." 

Ellen  confessed  that  she  had  not  known  that. 


THE  KENTONS  195 

"Yes;  I  suppose  that's  what  made  me  seem  'so 
Englishy '  the  first  day  to  Miss  Lottie,  as  she  called 
it.  But  I'm  straight  enough  American  as  far  as 
parentage  goes.  Do  you  think  you  will  be  in 
England— later  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  If  poppa  gets  too  homesick  we 
will  go  back  in  the  fall." 

"Miss  Kenton,"  said  the  young  man,  abruptly, 
"  will  you  let  me  tell  you  how  much  I  admire  and 
revere  your  father?" 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  her  throat  swelled. 
"But  you  don't  know,"  she  begun;  and  then  she 
stopped. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  to  submit  something  to  his 
judgment;  but  I've  been  afraid.  I  might  seem  to 
be  fishing  for  his  favor." 

"Poppa  wouldn't  think  anything  that  was  un 
just,"  said  Ellen,  gravely. 

"  Ah,"  Breckon  laughed,  "  I  suspect  that  I  should 
rather  have  him  unjust.  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what 
he  would  think." 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  she  protested,  with 
a  reflected  smile. 

"  I  was  in  hopes  Miss  Rasmith  might  have  told 
you.  Well,  it  is  simply  this,  and  you  will  see  that 
I'm  not  quite  the  universal  favorite  she's  been 
making  you  fancy  me.  There  is  a  rift  in  my  lute, 
a  schism  in  my  little  society,  which  is  so  little  that 
I  could  not  have  supposed  there  was  enough  of  it 
to  break  in  two.  There  are  some  who  think  their 
lecturer — for  that's  what  I  amount  to — ought  to  be 


196  THE   KENTONS 

an  older,  if  not  a  graver  man.  They  are  in  the 
minority,  but  they're  in  the  right,  I'm  afraid;  and 
that's  why  I  happen  to  be  here  telling  you  all  this. 
It's  a  question  of  whether  I  ought  to  go  back  to  New 
York  or  stay  in  London,  where  there's  been  a  faint 
call  for  me."  He  saw  the  girl  listening  devoutly, 
with  that  nattered  look  which  a  serious  girl  cannot 
keep  out  of  her  face  when  a  man  confides  a  serious 
matter  to  her.  "  I  might  safely  promise  to  be  older, 
but  could  I  keep  my  word  if  I  promised  to  be 
graver?  That's  the  point.  If  I  were  a  Calvinist 
I  might  hold  fast  by  faith,  and  fight  it  out  with 
that;  or  if  I  were  a  Catholic  I  could  cast  myself 
upon  the  strength  of  the  Church,  and  triumph  in 
spite  of  temperament.  Then  it  wouldn't  matter 
whether  I  was  grave  or  gay;  it  might  be  even  bet 
ter  if  I  were  gay.  But,"  he  went  on,  in  terms 
which,  doubtless,  were  mot  then  for  the  first  time 
formulated  in  his  mind,  "being  merely  the 
leader  of  a  sort  of  forlorn  hope  in  the  Divine 
Goodness,  perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  be  so  cheer 
ful." 

The  note  of  a  sad  irony  in  his  words  appealed 
to  such  indignation  for  him  in  Ellen  as  she  never 
felt  for  herself.  But  she  only  said,  "  I  don't  believe 
poppa  could  take  that  in  the  wrong  way  if  you  told 
him." 

Breckon  stared.  "  Yes,  your  father !  What  would 
he  say?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you.  But  I'm  sure  he  would  know 
what  you  meant." 


THE  KENTONS  197 

"And  you,"  he  pursued,  "what  should  you 
say?" 

"I?  I  never  thought  about  such  a  thing.  You 
mustn't  ask  me,  if  you're  serious;  and  if  you're 
not—" 

"  But  I  am ;  I  am  deeply  serious.  I  would  like 
to  know  how  the  case  strikes  you.  I  shall  be  so 
grateful  if  you  will  tell  me." 

"  I'm  sorry  I  can't,  Mr.  Breckon.  Why  don't  you 
ask  poppa?" 

"  No,  I  see  now  I  sha'n't  be  able.  I  feel  too  much, 
after  telling  you,  as  if  I  had  been  posing.  The 
reality  has  gone  out  of  it  all.  And  I'm  ashamed." 

"You  mustn't  be,"  she  said,  quietly;  and  she 
added,  "  I  suppose  it  would  be  Me  a  kind  of  defeat 
if  you  didn't  go  back  ?" 

"I  shouldn't  care  for  the  appearance  of  defeat," 
he  said,  courageously.  "  The  great  question  is, 
whether  somebody  else  wouldn't  be  of  more  use  in 
my  place." 

"Nobody  could  be,"  said  she,  in  a  sort  of  im 
passioned  absence,  and  then  coming  to  herself,  "  I 
mean,  they  wouldn't  think  so,  I  don't  believe." 

"  Then  you  advise — " 

"No,  no!  I  can't;  I  don't.  I'm  not  fit  to  have 
an  opinion  about  such  a  thing;  it  would  be  crazy. 
But  poppa — " 

They  were  at  the  door  of  the  gangway,  and  she 
slipped  within  and  left  him.  His  nerves  tingled, 
and  there  was  a  glow  in  his  breast.  It  was  sweet 
to  have  surprised  that  praise  from  her,  though  he 


198  THE   KENTONS 

could  not  have  said  why  he  should  value  the  praise 
of  a  girl  of  her  open  ignorance  and  inexperience 
in  everything  that  would  have  qualified  her  to 
judge  him.  But  he  found  himself  valuing  it  su 
premely,  and  wonderingly  wishing  to  be  worthy  of 
it. 


XVII 

ELLEN  discovered  her  father  with  a  book  in  a  dis 
tant  corner  of  the  dining-saloon,  which  he  preferred 
to  the  deck  or  the  library  for  his  reading,  in  such 
intervals  as  the  stewards,  laying  and  cleaning  the 
tables,  left  him  unmolested  in  it.  She  advanced 
precipitately  upon  him,  and  stood  before  him  in 
an  excitement  which,  though  he  lifted  his  dazed  eyes 
to  it  from  his  page,  he  was  not  entirely  aware  of 
till  afterwards.  Then  he  realized  that  her  cheeks 
were  full  of  color,  and  her  eyes  of  light,  and  that 
she  panted  as  if  she  had  been  running  when  she 
spoke. 

"Poppa,"  she  said,  "there  is  something  that  Mr. 
Breckon  wants  to  speak  to  you — to  ask  you  about. 
He  has  asked  me,  but  I  want  you  to  see  him,  for  I 
think  he  had  better  tell  you  himself." 

While  he  still  stared  at  her  she  was  as  suddenly 
gone  as  she  had  come,  and  he  remained  with  his 
book,  which  the  meaning  had  as  suddenly  left. 
There  was  no  meaning  in  her  words,  except  as  he 
put  it  into  them,  and  after  he  had  got  it  in  he  strug 
gled  with  it  in  a  sort  of  perfunctory  incredulity. 
It  was  not  impossible;  it  chiefly  seemed  so  because 
it  seemed  too  good  to  be  true;  and  the  more  he 


200  THE   KENTONS 

pondered  it  the  more  possible,  if  not  probable,  it 
became.  He  could  not  be  safe  with  it  till  he  had 
submitted  it  to  his  wife;  and  he  went  to  her  while 
he  was  sure  of  repeating  Ellen's  words  without  vary 
ing  from  them  a  syllable. 

To  his  astonishment,  Mrs.  Kenton  was  instantly 
convinced.  "  Why,  of  course,"  she  said,  "  it  can't 
possibly  mean  anything  else.  Why  should  it  be 
so  very  surprising?  The  time  hasn't  been  very 
long,  but  they've  been  together  almost  every  mo 
ment;  and  he  was  taken  with  her  from  the  very 
beginning  —  I  could  see  that.  Put  on  your  other 
coat,"  she  said,  as  she  dusted  the  collar  of  the  coat 
the  judge  was  wearing.  "  He'll  be  looking  you  up 
at  once.  I  can't  say  that  it's  unexpected,"  and  she 
claimed  a  prescience  in  the  matter  which  all  her 
words  had  hitherto  denied. 

Kenton  did  not  notice  her  inconsistency.  "If 
it  were  not  so  exactly  what  I  wished,"  he  said,  "I 
don't  know  that  I  should  be  surprised  at  it  myself. 
Sarah,  if  I  had  been  trying  to  imagine  any  one 
for  Ellen,  I  couldn't  have  dreamed  of  a  person  bet 
ter  suited  to  her  than  this  young  man.  He's  every 
thing  that  I  could  wish  him  to  be.  I've  seen  the 
pleasure  and  comfort  she  took  in  his  way  from  the 
first  moment.  He  seemed  to  make  her  forget —  Do 
you  suppose  she  has  forgotten  that  miserable  wretch  ? 
Do  you  think — " 

"  If  she  hadn't,  could  she  be  letting  him  come  to 
speak  to  you?  I  don't  believe  she  ever  really  cared 
for  Bittridge — or  not  after  he  began  flirting  with 


THE  KENTONS  201 

Mrs.  Uphill."  She  had  no  shrinking  from  the  names 
which  Kenton  avoided  with  disgust.  "  The  only 
question  for  you  is  to  consider  what  you  shall  say 
to  Mr.  Breckon." 

"  Say  to  him  ?  Why,  of  course,  if  Ellen  has  made 
up  her  mind,  there's  only  one  thing  I  can  say." 

"Indeed  there  is!  He  ought  to  know  all  about 
that  disgusting  Bittridge  business,  and  you  have 
got  to  tell  him." 

"  Sarah,  I  couldn't.  It  is  too  humiliating.  How 
would  it  do  to  refer  him  to —  You  could  manage 
that  part  so  much  better.  I  don't  see  how  I  could 
keep  it  from  seeming  an  indelicate  betrayal  of  the 
poor  child — " 

"Perhaps  she's  told  him  herself,"  Mrs.  Kenton 
provisionally  suggested. 

The  judge  eagerly  caught  at  the  notion.  "Do 
you  think  so?  It  would  be  like  her!  Ellen  would 
wish  him  to  know  everything." 

He  stopped,  and  his  wife  could  see  that  he  was 
trembling  with  excitement.  "  We  must  find  out.  I 
will  speak  to  Ellen — " 

"And — you  don't  think  I'd  better  have  the  talk 
with  him  first?" 

"  Certainly  not !  Why,  Ruf us !  You  were  not 
going  to  look  him  up?" 

"No,"  he  hesitated;  but  she  could  see  that  some 
such  thing  had  been  on  his  mind. 

"  Surely,"  she  said,  "  you  must  be  crazy !"  But 
she  had  not  the  heart  to  blight  his  joy  with  sarcasm, 
and  perhaps  no  sarcasm  would  have  blighted  it. . 


202  THE  KENTONS 

"I  merely  wondered  what  I  had  better  say  in 
case  he  spoke  to  me  before  you  saw  Ellen — that's 
all.  Sarah!  I  couldn't  have  believed  that  anything 
could  please  me  so  much.  But  it  does  seem  as  if 
it  were  the  assurance  of  Ellen's  happiness;  and  she 
has  deserved  it,  poor  child!  If  ever  there  was  a 
dutiful  and  loving  daughter — at  least  before  that 
wretched  affair — she  was  one." 

"  She  has  been  a  good  girl,"  Mrs.  Kenton  stoically 
admitted. 

"And  they  are  very  well  matched.  Ellen  is  a 
cultivated  woman.  He  never  could  have  cause  to 
blush  for  her,  either  her  mind  or  her  manners,  in 
any  circle  of  society;  she  would  do  him  credit  un 
der  any  and  all  circumstances.  If  it  were  Lot 
tie—" 

"Lottie  is  all  right,"  said  her  mother,  in  re 
sentment  of  his  preference;  but  she  could  not  help 
smiling  at  it.  "Don't  you  be  foolish  about  Ellen. 
I  approve  of  Mr.  Breckon  as  much  as  you  do.  But 
it's  her  prettiness  and  sweetness  that's  taken  his 
fancy,  and  not  her  wisdom,  if  she's  got  him." 

"If  she's  got  him?" 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean.  I'm  not  saying 
she  hasn't.  Dear  knows,  I  don't  want  to!  I  feel 
just  as  you  do  about  it.  I  think  it's  the  greatest 
piece  of  good  fortune,  coming  on  top  of  all  our 
trouble  with  her.  I  couldn't  have  imagined  such  a 
thing." 

He  was  instantly  appeased.  "Are  you  going  to 
speak  with  Ellen  at  once?"  he  radiantly  inquired. 


THE   KENTONS  203 

"  I  will  see.    There's  no  especial  hurry,  is  there  ?" 
"  Only,  if  he  should  happen  to  meet  me — " 
"You  can  keep  out  of  his  way,  I  reckon.     Or 
you  can  put  him  off,  somehow." 

"Yes,"  Kenton  returned,  doubtfully.  "Don't," 
he  added,  "  be  too  blunt  with  Ellen.  You  know  she 
didn't  say  anything  explicit  to  me." 

"I  think  I  will  know  how  to  manage,  Mr.  Ken- 
ton." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  Sarah.  I'm  not  saying  that." 
Breckon  did  not  apparently  try  to  find  the  judge 
before  lunch,  and  at  table  he  did  not  seem  especially 
devoted  to  Ellen  in  her  father's  jealous  eyes.  He 
joked  Lottie,  and  exchanged  those  passages  of  repar 
tee  with  her  in  which  she  did  not  mind  using  a 
bludgeon  when  she  had  not  a  rapier  at  hand;  it 
is  doubtful  if  she  was  very  sensible  of  the  differ 
ence.  Ellen  sat  by  in  passive  content,  smiling  now 
and  then,  and  Boyne  carried  on  a  dignified  conver 
sation  with  Mr.  Pogis,  whom  he  had  asked  to  lunch 
at  his  table,  and  who  listened  with  one  ear  to 
the  vigorous  retorts  of  Lottie  in  her  combat  with 
Breckon. 

The  judge  witnessed  it  all  with  a  grave  dis 
pleasure,  more  and  more  painfully  apparent  to  his 
wife.  She  could  see  the  impatience,  the  gathering 
misgiving,  in  his  face,  and  she  perceived  that  she 
must  not  let  this  come  to  conscious  dissatisfaction 
with  Breckon;  she  knew  her  husband  capable  of 
indignation  with  trifling  which  would  complicate 
the  situation,  if  it  came  to  that.  She  decided  to 


204  THE   KENTONS 

speak  with  Ellen  as  soon  as  possible,  and  she  meant 
to  follow  her  to  her  state-room  when  they  left  the 
table.  But  fate  assorted  the  pieces  in  the  game 
differently.  Boyne  walked  over  to  the  place  where 
Miss  Rasmith  was  sitting  with  her  mother;  Lottie 
and  Mr.  Pogis  went  off  to  practise  duets  together, 
terrible,  four  -  handed  torments  under  which  the 
piano  presently  clamored;  and  Ellen  stood  for  a 
moment  talked  to  by  Mr.  Breckon,  who  challenged 
her  then  for  a  walk  on  deck,  and  with  whom  she 
went  away  smiling. 

Mrs.  Kenton  appealed  with  the  reflection  of  the 
girl's  happiness  in  her  face  to  the  frowning  censure 
in  her  husband's;  but  Kenton  spoke  first.  "What 
does  he  mean?"  he  demanded,  darkly.  "If  he  is 
making  a  fool  of  her  he'll  find  that  that  game 
can't  be  played  twice,  with  impunity.  Sarah,  I  be 
lieve  I  should  choke  him." 

"Mr.  Kenton!"  she  gasped,  and  she  trembled  in 
fear  of  him,  even  while  she  kept  herself  with  diffi 
culty  from  shaking  him  for  his  folly.  "Don't  say 
such  a  thing!  Can't  you  see  that  they  want  to 
talk  it  over?  If  he  hasn't  spoken  to  you  it's  be 
cause  he  wants  to  know  how  you  took  what  she 
said."  Seeing  the  effect  of  these  arguments,  she 
pursued:  "Will  you  never  have  any  sense?  I  will 
speak  to  Ellen  the  very  minute  I  get  her  alone, 
and  you  have  just  got  to  wait.  Don't  you  suppose 
it's  hard  for  me,  too?  Have  I  got  nothing  to 
bear?" 

Kenton  went  silently  back  to  his  book,  which  he 


THE  KENTONS  205 

took  with  him  to  the  reading-room,  where  from  time 
to  time  his  wife  came  to  him  and  reported  that  Ellen 
and  Breckon  were  still  walking  up  and  down  to 
gether,  or  that  they  were  sitting  down  talking,  or 
were  forward,  looking  over  at  the  prow,  or  were 
watching  the  deck-passengers  dancing.  Her  hus 
band  received  her  successive  advices  with  relaxing 
interest,  and  when  she  had  brought  the  last  she 
was  aware  that  the  affair  was  entirely  in  her  hands 
with  all  the  responsibility.  After  the  gay  parting 
between  Ellen  and  Breckon,  which  took  place  late 
in  the  afternoon,  she  suffered  an  interval  to  elapse 
before  she  followed  the  girl  down  to  her  state-room. 
She  found  her  lying  in  her  berth,  with  shining 
eyes  and  glad,  red  cheeks;  she  was  smiling  to  her 
self. 

"  That  is  right,  Ellen,"  her  mother  said.  "  You 
need  rest  after  your  long  tramp." 

"I'm  not  tired.  We  were  sitting  down  a  good 
deal.  I  didn't  think  how  late  it  was.  I'm  ever  so 
much  better.  Where's  Lottie?" 

"  Off  somewhere  with  that  young  Englishman," 
said  Mrs.  Kenton,  as  if  that  were  of  no  sort  of 
consequence.  "Ellen,"  she  added,  abruptly,  trying 
within  a  tremulous  smile  to  hide  her  eagerness, 
"what  is  this  that  Mr.  Breckon  wants  to  talk  with 
your  father  about?" 

"  Mr.  Breckon  ?    With  poppa  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly.  You  told  him  this  morning  that 
Mr.  Breckon—" 

"Oh!     Oh  yes!"  said  Ellen,  as  if  recollecting 


206  THE   KEXTOXS 

something  that  had  slipped  her  mind.  "  He  wants 
poppa  to  advise  him  whether  to  go  back  to  his  con 
gregation  in  New  York  or  not." 

Mrs.  Kenton  sat  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa  next 
the  door,  looking  into  the  girl's  face  on  the  pillow 
as  she  lay  with  her  arms  under  her  head.  Tears  of 
defeat  and  shame  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she 
could  not  see  the  girl's  light  nonchalance  in  adding : 
"  But  he  hasn't  got  up  his  courage  yet.  He  thinks 
he'll  ask  him  after  dinner.  He  says  he  doesn't 
want  poppa  to  think  he's  posing.  I  don't  know 
what  he  means." 

Mrs.  Kenton  did  not  speak  at  once.  Her  bitter 
est  mortification  was  not  for  herself,  but  for  the 
simple  and  tender  father-soul  which  had  been  so 
tried  already.  She  did  not  know  how  he  would 
bear  it,  the  disappointment,  and  the  cruel  hurt  to 
his  pride.  But  she  wanted  to  fall  on  her  knees  in 
thankfulness  that  he  had  betrayed  himself  only  to 
her. 

She  started  in  sudden  alarm  with  the  thought. 
"  Where  is  he  now — Mr.  Breckon  ?" 

"  He's  gone  with  Boyne  down  into  the  baggage- 
room." 

Mrs.  Kenton  sank  back  in  her  corner,  aware  now 
that  she  would  not  have  had  the  strength  to  go  to 
her  husband  even  to  save  him  from  the  awful  dis 
grace  of  giving  himself  away  to  Breckon.  "And 
was  that  all?"  she  faltered. 

"All?" 

"  That  he  wanted  to  speak  to  your  father  about  ?" 


THE   KENTONS  207 

She  must  make  irrefragably  sure,  for  Kenton's  sake, 
that  she  was  not  misunderstanding. 

"Why,  of  course!  What  else?  Why,  momma! 
What  are  you  crying  about?" 

"I'm  not  crying,  child.  Just  some  foolishness  of 
your  father's.  He  understood — he  thought — "  Mrs. 
Kenton  began  to  laugh  hysterically.  "  But  you  know 
how  ridiculous  he  is;  and  he  supposed —  No,  I 
won't  tell  you!" 

It  was  not  necessary.  The  girl's  mind,  perhaps 
because  it  was  imbued  already  with  the  subject,  had 
possessed  itself  of  what  filled  her  mother's.  She 
dropped  from  the  elbow  on  which  she  had  lifted  her 
self,  and  turned  her  face  into  the  pillow,  with  a  long 
wail  of  shame. 


XVIII 

MRS.  KENTON'S  difficulties  in  setting  her  husband 
right  were  indefinitely  heightened  by  the  suspicion 
that  the  most  unsuspicious  of  men  fell  into  con 
cerning  Breckon.  Did  Breckon  suppose  that  the 
matter  could  be  turned  off  in  that  way?  he  stupidly 
demanded;  and  when  he  was  extricated  from  this 
error  by  his  wife's  representation  that  Breckon  had 
not  changed  at  all,  but  had  never  told  Ellen  that 
he  wished  to  speak  with  him  of  anything  but  his 
returning  to  his  society,  Kenton  still  could  not  ac 
cept  the  fact.  He  would  have  contended  that  at 
least  the  other  matter  must  have  been  in  Breckon's 
mind;  and  when  he  was  beaten  from  this  position, 
and  convinced  that  the  meaning  they  had  taken  from 
Ellen's  words  had  never  been  in  any  mind  but  their 
own,  he  fell  into  humiliation  so  abject  that  he  could 
hide  it  only  by  the  hauteur  with  which  he  carried 
himself  towards  Breckon  when  they  met  at  dinner. 
He  would  scarcely  speak  to  the  young  man;  Ellen 
did  not  come  to  the  table;  Lottie  and  Boyne  and 
their  friend  Mr.  Pogis  were  dining  with  the  Kas- 
miths,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  had  to  be,  as  she  felt, 
cringingly  kind  to  Breckon  in  explaining  just  the 
sort  of  temporary  headache  that  kept  her  eldest 
daughter  away.  He  was  more  than  ordinarily  syrn- 


THE  KENTONS  209 

pathetic  and  polite,  but  he  was  manifestly  bewilder 
ed  by  Kenton's  behavior.  He  refused  an  hilarious 
invitation  from  Mrs.  Rasmith,  when  he  rose  from 
table,  to  stop  and  have  his  coffee  with  her  on  his 
way  out  of  the  saloon.  His  old  adorer  explained 
that  she  had  ordered  a  small  bottle  of  champagne 
in  honor  of  its  being  the  night  before  they  were 
to  get  into  Boulogne,  and  that  he  ought  to  sit  down 
and  help  her  keep  the  young  people  straight.  Julia, 
she  brokenly  syllabled,  with  the  gay  beverage  bub 
bling  back  into  her  throat,  was  not  the  least  use; 
she  was  worse  than  any.  Julia  did  not  look  it,  in 
the  demure  regard  which  she  bent  upon  her  amusing 
mother,  and  Breckon  persisted  in  refusing.  He 
said  he  thought  he  might  safely  leave  them  to  Boyne, 
and  Mrs.  Rasmith  said  into  her  handkerchief,  "  Oh 
yes!  Boyne!"  and  pressed  Boyne's  sleeve  with  her 
knobbed  and  jewelled  fingers. 

It  was  evident  where  most  of  the  small  bottle 
had  gone,  but  Breckon  was  none  the  cheerfuller  for 
the  spectacle  of  Mrs.  Rasmith.  He  could  not  have 
a  moment's  doubt  as  to  the  sort  of  work  he  had 
been  doing  in  New  York  if  she  were  an  effect  of 
it,  and  he  turned  his  mind  from  the  sad  certainty 
back  to  the  more  important  inquiry  as  to  what  of 
fence  his  wish  to  advise  with  Judge  Kenton  could 
have  conveyed.  Ellen  had  told  him  in  the  after 
noon  that  she  had  spoken  with  her  father  about  it, 
and  she  had  not  intimated  any  displeasure  or  re 
luctance  in  him ;  but  apparently  he  had  decided  not 
to  suffer  himself  to  be  approached. 

14 


210  THE   KENTONS 

It  might  be  as  well.  Breckon  had  not  been  able 
to  convince  himself  that  his  proposal  to  consult 
Judge  Kenton  was  not  a  pose.  He  had  flashes  of 
owning  that  it  was  contemplated  merely  as  a  means 
of  ingratiating  himself  with  Ellen.  Now,  as  he 
found  his  way  up  and  down  among  the  empty  steam 
er-chairs,  he  was  aware,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
of  not  caring  in  the  least  for  Judge  Kenton's  re 
pellent  bearing,  except  as  it  possibly,  or  impossibly, 
reflected  some  mood  of  hers.  He  could  not  make 
out  her  not  coming  to  dinner;  the  headache  was 
clearly  an  excuse;  for  some  reason  she  did  not 
wish  to  see  him,  he  argued,  with  the  egotism  of  his 
condition. 

The  logic  of  his  conclusion  was  strengthened  at 
breakfast  by  her  continued  absence;  and  this  time 
Mrs.  Kenton  made  no  apologies  for  her.  The  judge 
was  a  shade  less  severe;  or  else  Breckon  did  not 
put  himself  so  much  in  the  way  to  be  withheld  as 
he  had  the  night  before.  Boyne  and  Lottie  carried 
on  a  sort  of  muted  scrap,  unrebuked  by  their  mother, 
who  seemed  too  much  distracted  in  some  tacit 
trouble  to  mind  them.  From  time  to  time  Breckon 
found  her  eyes  dwelling  upon  him  wonderingly,  en- 
treatingly;  she  dropped  them,  if  she  caught  his,  and 
colored. 

In  the  afternoon  it  was  early  evident  that  they 
were  approaching  Boulogne.  The  hatch  was  opened 
and  the  sailors  began  getting  up  the  baggage  of 
the  passengers  who  were  going  to  disembark.  It 
seemed  a  long  time  for  everybody  till  the  steamer 


THE   KENTONS  211 

got  in;  those  going  ashore  sat  on  their  hand-bag 
gage  for  an  hour  before  the  tug  came  up  to  take 
them  off.  Mr.  Pogis  was  among  them;  he  had 
begun  in  the  forenoon  to  mark  the  approaching 
separation  between  Lottie  and  himself  by  intervals 
of  unmistakable  withdrawal.  Another  girl  might 
have  cared,  but  Lottie  did  not  care,  for  her  failure 
to  get  a  rise  out  of  him  by  her  mockingly  varied 
"Oh,  I  say!"  and  "Well,  rather!"  In  the  growth 
of  his  dignified  reserve  Mr.  Pogis  was  indifferent 
to  jeers.  By  whatever  tradition  of  what  would  or 
would  not  do  he  was  controlled  in  relinquishing 
her  acquaintance,  or  whether  it  was  in  obedience 
to  some  imperative  ideal,  or  some  fearful  domestic 
influence  subtly  making  itself  felt  from  the  coasts 
of  his  native  island,  or  some  fine  despair  of  equalling 
the  imagined  grandeur  of  Lottie's  social  state  in 
Tuskingum  by  anything  he  could  show  her  in  Eng 
land,  it  was  certain  that  he  was  ending  with  Lottie 
then  and  there.  At  the  same  time  he  was  carefully 
defining  himself  from  the  Rasmiths,  with  whom  he 
must  land.  He  had  his  state-room  things  put  at  an 
appreciable  distance,  where  he  did  not  escape  a 
final  stab  from  Lottie. 

"  Oh,  do  give  me  a  rose  out  of  that,"  she  en 
treated,  in  travestied  imploring,  as  he  stood  looking 
at  a  withered  bouquet  which  the  steward  had  brought 
up  with  his  rugs. 

"  I'm  takin'  it  home,"  he  explained,  coldly. 

"And  I  want  to  take  a  rose  back  to  New  York. 
I  want  to  give  it  to  a  friend  of  mine  there." 


212  THE   KENTONS 

Mr.  Pogis  hesitated.    Then  he  asked,  "A  man?" 

"Well,  rather!"  said  Lottie. 

He  answered  nothing,  but  looked  definitively  down 
at  the  flowers  in  his  hand. 

"Oh,  I  say!"  Lottie  exulted. 

Boyne  remained  fixed  in  fealty  to  the  Kasmiths, 
with  whom  Breckon  was  also  talking  as  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton  came  up  with  the  judge.  She  explained  how 
sorry  her  daughter  Ellen  was  at  not  being  able 
to  say  good-bye;  she  was  still  not  at  all  well;  and 
the  ladies  received  her  excuses  with  polite  patience. 
Mrs.  Rasmith  said  she  did  not  know  what  they 
should  do  without  Boyne,  and  Miss  Rasmith  put 
her  arm  across  his  shoulders  and  pulled  him  up  to 
her,  and  implored,  "  Oh,  give  him  to  me,  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton!" 

Boyne  stole  an  ashamed  look  at  his  mother,  and 
his  father  said,  with  an  unbending  to  Breckon  which 
must  have  been  the  effect  of  severe  expostulation 
from  Mrs.  Kenton,  "I  suppose  you  and  the  ladies 
will  go  to  Paris  together." 

"Why,  no,"  Breckon  said,  and  he  added,  with 
mounting  confusion,  "  I — I  had  arranged  to  keep 
on  to  Rotterdam.  I  was  going  to  mention  it." 

"Keep  on  to  Rotterdam!"  Mrs.  Rasmith's  eyes 
expressed  the  greatest  astonishment. 

"Why,  of  course,  mother!"  said  her  daughter. 
"Don't  you  know?  Boyne  told  us." 

Boyne,  after  their  parting,  seized  the  first  chance 
of  assuring  his  mother  that  he  had  not  told  Miss 
Rasmith  that,  for  he  had  not  known  it,  and  he 


THE   KENTONS  213 

went  so  far  in  her  condemnation  as  to  wonder  how 
she  could  say  such  a  thing.  His  mother  said  it  was 
not  very  nice,  and  then  suggested  that  perhaps  she 
had  heard  it  from  some  one  else,  and  thought  it 
was  he.  She  acquitted  him  of  complicity  with 
Miss  Rasmith  in  forbearing  to  contradict  her;  and 
it  seemed  to  her  a  fitting  time  to  find  out  from 
Boyne  what  she  honestly  could  about  the  relation 
of  the  Rasmiths  to  Mr.  Breckon.  It  was  very  little 
beyond  their  supposition,  which  every  one  else  had 
shared,  that  he  was  going  to  land  with  them  at 
Boulogne,  and  he  must  have  changed  his  mind  very 
suddenly.  Boyne  had  not  heard  the  Rasmiths  speak 
of  it.  Miss  Rasmith  never  spoke  of  Mr.  Breckon 
at  all;  but  she  seemed  to  want  to  talk  of  Ellen;  she 
was  always  asking  about  her,  and  what  was  the 
matter  with  her,  and  how  long  she  had  been  sick. 

"Boyne,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  pang,  "you 
didn't  tell  her  anything  about  Ellen?" 

"Momma!"  said  the  boy,  in  such  evident  abhor 
rence  of  the  idea  that  she  rested  tranquil  concerning 
it.  She  paid  little  attention  to  what  Boyne  told 
her  otherwise  of  the  Rasmiths.  Her  own  horizons 
were  so  limited  that  she  could  not  have  brought 
home  to  herself  within  them  that  wandering  life 
the  Rasmiths  led  from  climate  to  climate  and  sen 
sation  to  sensation,  with  no  stay  so  long  as  they 
annually  made  in  New  York,  where  they  sometimes 
passed  months  enough  to  establish  themselves  in 
giving  and  taking  tea  in  a  circle  of  kindred  nomads. 
She  conjectured  as  ignorantly  as  Boyne  himself  that 


214  THE  KENTONS 

they  were  very  rich,  and  it  would  not  have  enlight 
ened  her  to  know  that  the  mother  was  the  widow  of 
a  California  politician,  whom  she  had  married  in 
the  sort  of  middle  period  following  upon  her  less 
mortuary  survival  of  Miss  Easinith's  father,  whose 
name  was  not  Easmith. 

What  Mrs.  Kenton  divined  was  that  they  had 
wanted  to  get  Breckon,  and  that  so  far  as  con 
cerned  her  own  interest  in  him  they  had  wanted 
to  get  him  away  from  Ellen.  In  her  innermost  self- 
confidences  she  did  not  permit  herself  the  notion 
that  Ellen  had  any  right  to  him;  but  still  it  was 
a  relief  to  have  them  off  the  ship,  and  to  have 
him  left.  Of  all  the  witnesses  of  the  fact,  she  alone 
did  not  find  it  awkward.  Breckon  himself  found 
it  very  awkward.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  with  the 
Easmiths,  but  he  found  it  uncomfortable  not  being 
with  them,  under  the  circumstances,  and  he  followed 
them  ashore  in  tingling  reveries  of  explanation  and 
apology.  He  had  certainly  meant  to  get  off  at 
Boulogne,  and  when  he  had  suddenly  and  tardily 
made  up  his  mind  to  keep  on  to  Eotterdam,  he  had 
meant  to  tell  them  as  soon  as  he  had  the  labels  on 
his  baggage  changed.  He  had  not  meant  to  tell 
them  why  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  he  did 
not  tell  them  now  in  these  tingling  reveries.  He  did 
not  own  the  reason  in  his  secret  thoughts,  for  it  no 
longer  seemed  a  reason;  it  no  longer  seemed  a 
cause.  He  knew  what  the  Easmiths  would  think; 
but  he  could  easily  make  that  right  with  his  con 
science,  at  least,  by  parting  with  the  Kentons  at 


THE  KENTONS  215 

Rotterdam,  and  leaving  them  to  find  their  unconduct- 
ed  way  to  any  point  they  chose  beyond.  He  sepa 
rated  himself  uncomfortably  from  them  when  the 
tender  had  put  off  with  her  passengers  and  the 
ship  had  got  under  way  again,  and  went  to  the 
smoking-room,  while  the  judge  returned  to  his  book 
and  Mrs.  Kenton  abandoned  Lottie  to  her  own  de 
vices,  and  took  Boyne  aside  for  her  apparently  fruit 
less  inquiries. 

They  were  not  really  so  fruitless  but  that  at  the 
end  of  them  she  could  go  with  due  authority  to 
look  up  her  husband.  She  gently  took  his  book 
from  him  and  shut  it  up.  "  Now,  Mr.  Kenton,"  she 
began,  "  if  you  don?t  go  right  straight  and  find  Mr. 
Breckon  and  talk  with  him,  I — I  don't  know  what 
I  will  do.  You  must  talk  to  him — " 

"About  Ellen?"  the  judge  frowned. 

"No,  certainly  not.  Talk  with  him  about  any 
thing  that  interests  you.  Be  pleasant  to  him.  Can't 
you  see  that  he's  going  on  to  Rotterdam  on  our 
account  ?" 

"  Then  I  wish  he  wasn't.    There's  no  use  in  it." 

"  No  matter !  It's  polite  in  him,  and  I  want  you 
to  show  him  that  you  appreciate  it." 

"  Now  see  here,  Sarah,"  said  the  judge,  "  if  you 
want  him  shown  that  we  appreciate  his  politeness 
why  don't  you  do  it  yourself?" 

"  I  ?  Because  it  would  look  as  if  you  were  afraid 
to.  It  would  look  as  if  we  meant  something  by  it." 

"Well,  I  am  afraid;  and  that's  just  what  I'm 
afraid  of.  I  declare,  my  heart  comes  into  my  mouth 


216  THE  KENTONS 

whenever  I  think  what  an  escape  we  had.  I  think 
of  it  whenever  I  look  at  him,  and  I  couldn't  talk  to 
him  without  having  that  in  my  mind  all  the  time. 
No,  women  can  manage  those  things  better.  If  you 
believe  he  is  going  along  on  our  account,  so  as  to 
help  us  see  Holland,  and  to  keep  us  from  getting 
into  scrapes,  you're  the  one  to  make  it  up  to  him. 
I  don't  care  what  you  say  to  show  him  our  grati 
tude.  I  reckon  we  will  get  into  all  sorts  of  trouble 
if  we're  left  to  ourselves.  But  if  you  think  he's 
stayed  because  he  wants  to  be  with  Ellen,  and — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  think!  And  that's 
why  I  can't  talk  to  him.  I'm  afraid  it'll  seem  as 
if  we  wanted  to  natter  him,  and  goodness  knows 
we  don't  want  to.  Or,  yes,  we  do!  I'd  give  any 
thing  if  it  was  true.  Kufus,  do  you  suppose  he  did 
stay  on  her  account  ?  My,  oh,  my !  If  I  could  only 
think  so!  Wouldn't  it  be  the  best  thing  in  the 
world  for  the  poor  child,  and  for  all  of  us  ?  I  never 
saw  anybody  that  I  liked  so  much.  But  it's  too 
good  to  be  true." 

"He's  a  nice  fellow,  but  I  don't  think  he's  any 
too  good  for  Ellen." 

"I'm  not  saying  he  is.  The  great  thing  is  that 
he's  good  enough,  and  gracious  knows  what  will 
happen  if  she  meets  some  other  worthless  fellow, 
and  gets  befooled  with  him !  Or  if  she  doesn't  take 
a  fancy  to  some  one,  and  goes  back  to  Tuskingum 
without  seeing  any  one  else  she  likes,  there  is  that 
awful  wretch,  and  when  she  hears  what  Dick  did 
to  him  she's  just  wrong-headed  enough  to  take  up 


THE  KENTONS  217 

with  him  again  to  make  amends  to  him.  Oh,  dear! 
oh,  dear!  I  know  Lottie  will  let  it  out  to  her 
yet!" 

The  judge  began  threateningly,  "You  tell  Lottie 
from  me — " 

"What?"  said  the  girl  herself,  who  had  seen  her 
father  and  mother  talking  together  in  a  remote  cor 
ner  of  the  music-room  and  had  stolen  light-footedly 
upon  them  just  at  this  moment. 

"Lottie,  child/'  said  her  mother,  undismayed  at 
Lottie's  arrival  in  her  larger  anxiety,  "I  wish  you 
would  try  and  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Breckon.  Now 
that  he's  going  on  with  us  to  Holland,  I  don't  want 
him  to  think  we're  avoiding  him." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  because." 

"  Because  you  want  to  get  him  for  Ellen  ?" 

"  Don't  be  impudent,"  said  her  father.  "  You  do 
as  your  mother  bids  you." 

"  Be  agreeable  to  that  old  Breckon  ?  I  think  I  see 
myself!  I'd  sooner — read!  I'm  going  to  get  a 
book  now"  She  left  them  as  abruptly  as  she  had 
come  upon  them,  and  ran  across  to  the  bookcase, 
where  she  remained  two  -  stepping  and  peering 
through  the  glass  doors  at  the  literature  within, 
in  unaccustomed  question  concerning  it. 

"  She's  a  case,"  said  the  judge,  looking  at  her 
not  only  with  relenting,  but  with  the  pride  in  her 
sufficiency  for  all  the  exigencies  of  life  which  he 
could  not  feel  in  Ellen.  "  She  can  take  care  of 
herself." 


218  THE  KKNTONS 

"  Oh  yes,"  Mrs.  Kenton  sadly  assented.  "  I  don't 
think  anybody  will  ever  make  a  fool  of  Lottie." 

"It's  a  great  deal  more  likely  to  be  the  other 
way,"  her  father  suggested. 

"I  think  Lottie  is  conscientious,"  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton  protested.  "  She  wouldn't  really  fool  with  a 
man." 

"  No,  she's  a  good  girl,"  the  judge  owned. 

"It's  girls  like  Ellen  who  make  the  trouble  and 
the  care.  They  are  too  good,  and  you  have  to  think 
some  evil  in  this  world.  Well !"  She  rose  and  gave 
her  husband  back  his  book. 

"Do  you  know  where  Boyne  is?" 

"  No.  Do  you  want  him  to  be  pleasant  to  Mr. 
Breckon?" 

"  Somebody  has  got  to.  But  it  would  be  ridicu 
lous  if  nobody  but  Boyne  was." 

She  did  not  find  Boyne,  after  no  very  exhaustive 
search,  and  the  boy  was  left  to  form  his  bearing 
towards  Breckon  on  the  behavior  of  the  rest  of 
his  family.  As  this  continued  helplessly  constrained 
both  in  his  father  and  mother,  and  voluntarily  re 
pellent  in  Lottie,  Boyne  decided  upon  a  blend  of 
conduct  which  left  Breckon  in  greater  and  greater 
doubt  of  his  wisdom  in  keeping  on  to  Eotterdam. 
There  was  no  good  reason  which  he  would  have  been 
willing  to  give  himself,  from  the  beginning.  It 
had  been  an  impulse,  suddenly  coming  upon  him 
in  the  baggage-room  where  he  had  gone  to  get  some 
thing  out  of  his  trunk,  and  where  he  had  decided 
to  have  the  label  of  his  baggage  changed  from  the 


THE  KENTONS  219 

original  destination  at  Boulogne  to  the  final  port 
of  the  steamer's  arrival.  When  this  was  once  done 
he  was  sorry,  but  he  was  ashamed  to  have  the  label 
changed  back.  The  most  assignable  motive  for  his 
act  was  his  reluctance  to  go  on  to  Paris  with  the 
Kasrniths,  or  rather  with  Mrs.  Kasmith;  for  with 
her  daughter,  who  was  not  a  bad  fellow,  one  could 
always  manage.  He  was  quite  aware  of  being  safely 
in  his  own  hands  against  any  design  of  Mrs.  Ras- 
mith's,  but  her  machinations  humiliated  him  for 
her;  he  hated  to  see  her  going  through  her  ma 
noeuvres,  and  he  could  not  help  grieving  for  her 
failures,  with  a  sort  of  impersonal  sympathy,  all 
the  more  because  he  disliked  her  as  little  as  he  re 
spected  her. 

The  motive  which  he  did  not  assign  to  himself  was 
that  which  probably  prevailed  with  him,  though  in 
the  last  analysis  it  was  as  selfish,  no  doubt,  as  the 
one  he  acknowledged.  Ellen  Kenton  still  piqued  his 
curiosity,  still  touched  his  compassion.  He  had  so 
far  from  exhausted  his  wish  or  his  power  to  befriend 
her,  to  help  her,  that  he  had  still  a  wholly  unsatis 
fied  longing  to  console  her,  especially  when  she 
drooped  into  that  listless  attitude  she  was  apt  to 
take,  with  her  face  fallen  and  her  hands  let  lie, 
the  back  of  one  in  the  palm  of  the  other,  in  her 
lap.  It  was  possibly  the  vision  of  this  following  him 
to  the  baggage  -  room,  when  he  went  to  open  his 
trunk,  that  as  much  as  anything  decided  him  to 
have  the  label  changed  on  his  baggage,  but  he  did 
not  own  it  then,  and  still  less  did  he  own  it  now, 


220  THE  KENTONS 

when  he  found  himself  quite  on  his  own  hands  for 
his  pains. 

He  felt  that  for  some  reason  the  Kentons  were 
all  avoiding  him.  Ellen,  indeed,  did  not  take  part 
against  him,  unless  negatively,  for  she  had  ap 
peared  neither  at  lunch  nor  at  dinner  as  the  vessel 
kept  on  its  way  after  leaving  Boulogne;  and  when 
he  ventured  to  ask  for  her  Mrs.  Kenton  answered 
with  embarrassment  that  she  was  not  feeling  very 
well.  He  asked  for  her  at  lunch,  but  not  at  dinner, 
and  when  he  had  finished  that  meal  he  went  on  the 
promenade-deck,  and  walked  forlornly  up  and  down, 
feeling  that  he  had  been  a  fool. 

Mrs.  Kenton  went  below  to  her  daughter's  room, 
and  found  Ellen  there  on  the  sofa,  with  her  book 
shut  on  her  thumb  at  the  place  where  the  twilight 
had  failed  her. 

"  Ellen,  dear,"  her  mother  said,  "  aren't  you  feel 
ing  well?" 

"Yes,  I'm  well  enough,"  said  the  girl,  sensible 
of  a  leading  in  the  question.  "  Why  ?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  Only — only  I  can't  make  your 
father  behave  naturally  with  Mr.  Breckon.  He's  got 
his  mind  so  full  of  that  mistake  we  both  came  so 
near  making  that  he  can't  think  of  anything  else. 
He's  so  sheepish  about  it  that  he  can  hardly  speak 
to  him  or  even  look  at  him ;  and  I  must  confess  that 
I  don't  do  much  better.  You  know  I  don't  like 
to  put  myself  forward  where  your  father  is,  and 
if  I  did,  really  I  don't  believe  I  could  make  up  my 
mouth  to  say  anything.  I  did  want  Lottie  to  be 


THE  KENTONS  221 

nice  to  him,  but  Lottie  dislikes  him  so!  And  even 
Boyne — well,  it  wouldn't  matter  about  Boyne,  if 
he  didn't  seem  to  be  carrying  out  a  sort  of  family 
plan — Boyne  barely  answers  him  when  he  speaks 
to  him.  I  don't  know  what  he  can  think."  Ellen 
was  a  good  listener,  and  Mrs.  Kenton,  having  begun, 
did  not  stop  till  she  had  emptied  the  bag.  "  I  just 
know  that  he  didn't  get  off  at  Boulogne  because 
he  wanted  to  stay  on  with  us,  and  thought  he  could 
be  useful  to  us  at  The  Hague,  and  everywhere ;  and 
here  we're  acting  as  ungratefully!  Why,  we're  not 
even  commonly  polite  to  him,  and  I  know  he  feels 
it.  I  know  that  he's  hurt." 

Ellen  rose  and  stood  before  the  glass,  into  which 
she  asked  of  her  mother's  reflected  face,  while  she 
knotted  a  fallen  coil  of  hair  into  its  place,  "  Where 
is  he?" 

"  I  don't  know.    He  went  on  deck  somewhere." 

Ellen  put  on  her  hat  and  pinned  it,  and  put  on 
her  jacket  and  buttoned  it.  Then  she  started  tow 
ards  the  door.  Her  mother  made  way  for  her, 
faltering,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Ellen  ?" 

"I  am  going  to  do  right." 

"Don't — catch  cold!"  her  mother  called  after  her 
figure  vanishing  down  the  corridor,  but  the  warn 
ing  couched  in  these  terms  had  really  no  reference 
to  the  weather. 

The  girl's  impulse  was  one  of  those  effects  of  the 
weak  will  in  her  which  were  apt  to  leave  her  short 
of  the  fulfilment  of  a  purpose.  It  carried  her  as  far 
as  the  promenade,  which  she  found  empty,  and  she 


222  THE   KENTONS 

went  and  leaned  upon  the  rail,  and  looked  out  over 
the  sorrowful  North  Sea,  which  was  washing  darkly 
away  towards  where  the  gloomy  sunset  had  been. 

Steps  from  the  other  side  of  the  ship  approached, 
hesitated  towards  her,  and  then  arrested  themselves. 
She  looked  round. 

"Why,  Miss  Kenton!"  said  Breckon,  stupidly. 

"  The  sunset  is  over,  isn't  it  ?"  she  answered. 

"The  twilight  isn't."  Breckon  stopped;  then  he 
asked,  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  little  walk?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  and  smiled  fully  upon  him. 
He  had  never  known  before  how  radiant  a  smile  she 
had. 

"  Better  have  my  arm.    It's  getting  rather  dark." 

"  Well."  She  put  her  hand  on  his  arm  and  he 
felt  it  tremble  there,  while  she  palpitated,  "  We  are 
all  so  glad  you  could  go  on  to  Rotterdam.  My 
mother  wanted  me  to  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  of  that,"  said  Breckon,  not 
very  appositely.  Presently  he  forced  a  laugh,  in 
order  to  add,  with  lightness,  "  I  was  afraid  perhaps 
I  had  given  you  all  some  reason  to  regret  it." 

She  said,  "  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  that — 
or  momma  was — and  I  couldn't  bear  to  have  you." 

"Well,  then,  I  won't." 


XIX 

BRECKON  had  answered  with  gayety,  but  his  hap 
piness  was  something  beyond  gayety.  He  had  really 
felt  the  exclusion  from  the  Kentons  in  which  he 
had  passed  the  day,  and  he  had  felt  it  the  more 
painfully  because  he  liked  them  all.  It  may  be 
owned  that  he  liked  Ellen  best  from  the  beginning, 
and  now  he  liked  her  better  than  ever,  but  even 
in  the  day's  exile  he  had  not  ceased  to  like  each 
of  them.  They  were,  in  their  family  affection,  as 
lovable  as  that  sort  of  selfishness  can  make  people. 
They  were  very  united  and  good  to  one  another. 
Lottie  herself,  except  in  her  most  lurid  moments, 
was  good  to  her  brother  and  sister,  and  almost  in 
variably  kind  to  her  parents.  She  would  not,  Breck- 
on  saw,  have  brooked  much  meddling  with  her  flir 
tations  from  them,  but  as  they  did  not  offer  to 
meddle,  she  had  no  occasion  to  grumble  on  that 
score.  She  grumbled  when  they  asked  her  to  do 
things  for  Ellen,  but  she  did  them,  and  though  she 
never  did  them  without  grumbling,  she  sometimes 
did  them  without  being  asked.  She  was  really  very 
watchful  of  Ellen  when  it  would  least  have  been 
expected,  and  sometimes  she  was  sweet.  She  never 
was  sweet  with  Boyne,  but  she  was  often  his  friend, 


224  THE  KENTONS 

though  this  did  not  keep  her  from  turning  upon 
him  at  the  first  chance  to  give  him  a  little  dig,  or 
a  large  one,  for  that  matter.  As  for  Boyne,  he 
was  a  mass  of  helpless  sweetness,  though  he  did 
not  know  it,  and  sometimes  took  himself  for  an  ice 
berg  when  he  was  merely  an  ice-cream  of  heroic 
mould.  He  was  as  helplessly  sweet  with  Lottie  as 
with  any  one,  and  if  he  suffered  keenly  from  her 
treacheries,  and  seized  every  occasion  to  repay  them 
in  kind,  it  was  clearly  a  matter  of  conscience  with 
him,  and  always  for  her  good.  Their  father  and 
mother  treated  their  squabbles  very  wisely,  Breckon 
thought.  They  ignored  them  as  much  as  possible, 
and  they  recognized  them  without  attempting  to  do 
that  justice  between  them  which  would  have  rankled 
in  both  their  breasts. 

To  a  spectator  who  had  been  critical  at  first,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kenton  seemed  an  exemplary  father  and 
mother  with  Ellen  as  well  as  with  their  other  chil 
dren.  It  is  easy  to  be  exemplary  with  a  sick  girl, 
but  they  increasingly  affected  Breckon  as  exemplary 
with  Ellen.  He  fancied  that  they  acted  upon  each 
other  beneficially  towards  her.  At  first  he  had 
foreboded  some  tiresome  boasting  from  the  father's 
tenderness,  and  some  weak  indulgence  of  the  daugh 
ter's  whims  from  her  mother;  but  there  was  either 
never  any  ground  for  this,  or  else  Mrs.  Kenton, 
in  keeping  her  husband  from  boasting,  had  been 
obliged  in  mere  consistency  to  set  a  guard  upon  her 
own  fondness. 

It  was  not  that  Ellen,  he  was  more  and  more 


THE   KENTONS  225 

decided,  would  have  abused  the  weakness  of  either; 
if  there  was  anything  more  angelic  than  her  pa 
tience,  it  was  her  wish  to  be  a  comfort  to  them, 
and,  between  the  caprices  of  her  invalidism,  to 
be  a  service.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  her  remembering 
to  do  things  for  them  which  Boyne  and  Lottie  had 
forgotten,  or  plainly  shirked  doing,  and  to  keep 
the  fact  out  of  sight.  She  really  kept  it  out  of 
sight  with  them,  and  if  she  did  not  hide  it  from 
so  close  an  observer  as  Breckon,  that  was  more  his 
fault  than  hers.  When  her  father  first  launched 
out  in  her  praise,  or  the  praise  of  her  reading,  the 
young  man  had  dreaded  a  rustic  prig;  yet  she  had 
never  been  a  prig,  but  simply  glad  of  what  books 
she  had  known,  and  meekly  submissive  to  his  knowl 
edge  if  not  his  taste.  He  owned  that  she  had  a  right 
to  her  taste,  which  he  found  almost  always  good, 
and  accounted  for  as  instinctive  in  the  absence 
of  an  imaginable  culture  in  her  imaginable  am 
bient.  So  far  as  he  had  glimpses  of  this,  he  found 
it  so  different  from  anything  he  had  known  that 
the  modest  adequacy  of  Mrs.  Kenton  in  the  po 
litical  experiences  of  modern  Europe,  as  well  as 
the  clear  judgments  of  Kenton  in  various  matters, 
sometimes  beyond  Breckon  himself,  mystified  him 
no  less  than  Ellen's  taste. 

Even  with  the  growth  of  his  respect  for  their  in 
telligence  and  his  love  of  their  kindliness,  he  had 
not  been  able  to  keep  a  certain  patronage  from 
mingling,  and  it  was  not  till  they  evinced  not  only 
an  entire  ability,  but  an  apparent  wish  to  get  on 

15 


226  THE   KENTONS 

without  his  approval,  without  his  acquaintance  even, 
that  he  had  conceived  a  just  sense  of  them.  The  like 
is  apt  to  happen  with  the  best  of  us,  when  we 
are  also  the  finest,  and  Breckon  was  not  singular 
in  coming  to  a  due  consciousness  of  something  valu 
able  only  in  the  hour  of  its  loss.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  loss  was  only  apparent.  He  knew  that 
he  had  made  a  distinct  sacrifice  for  these  people, 
and  that,  when  he  had  prepared  himself  to  befriend 
them  little  short  of  self-devotion,  they  showed  them 
selves  indifferent,  and  almost  repellent.  In  the  re 
vulsion  of  feeling,  when  Ellen  gave  him  her  mother's 
message,  and  frankly  offered  him  reparation  on  be 
half  of  her  whole  family,  he  may  have  overdone  his 
gratitude,  but  he  did  not  overdo  it  to  her  perception. 
They  walked  up  and  down  the  promenade  of  the 
Amstel,  in  the  watery  North  Sea  moon,  while  bells 
after  bells  noted  the  hour  unheeded,  and  when  they 
parted  for  the  night  it  was  with  an  involuntary 
pressure  of  hands,  from  which  she  suddenly  pulled 
hers,  and  ran  down  the  corridor  of  her  state-room 
and  Lottie's. 

He  stood  watching  the  narrow  space  in  which 
she  had  vanished,  and  thinking  how  gentle  she  was, 
and  how  she  had  contrived  somehow  to  make  him 
feel  that  now  it  was  she  who  had  been  consoling 
him,  and  trying  to  interest  him  and  amuse  him. 
He  had  not  realized  that  before;  he  had  been  used 
to  interesting  and  amusing  her,  but  he  could  not 
resent  it;  he  could  not  resent  the  implication  of 
superiority,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  which 


THE   KENTONS  227 

her  kindness  conveyed.  The  question  with  Breckon 
was  whether  she  had  walked  with  him  so  long  be 
cause  she  wished,  in  the  hour,  to  make  up  as  fully 
as  possible  for  the  day's  neglect,  or  because  she 
had  liked  to  walk  up  and  down  with  him.  It 
was  a  question  he  found  keeping  itself  poignant 
ly?  yet  pleasantly,  in  his  mind,  after  he  had  got 
into  his  berth  under  the  solidly  slumberous  Boyne, 
and  inclining  now  to  one  solution  and  now  to  the 
other,  with  a  delicate  oscillation  that  was  charming. 
The  Amstel  took  her  time  to  get  into  Rotterdam, 
and  when  her  passengers  had  gone  ashore  the  next 
forenoon  the  train  that  carried  Breckon  to  The 
Hague  in  the  same  compartment  with  the  Kentons 
was  in  no  greater  hurry.  It  arrived  with  a  deliber 
ation  which  kept  it  from  carrying  them  on  to 
Amsterdam  before  they  knew  it,  and  Mrs.  Kenton 
had  time  to  place  such  parts  of  the  wars  in  the 
Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic  as  she  could  attach 
to  the  names  of  the  stations  and  the  general  feat 
ures  of  the  landscape.  Boyne  was  occupied  with 
improvements  for  the  windmills  and  the  canal-boats, 
which  did  not  seem  to  him  of  the  quality  of  the 
Michigan  aerometers,  or  the  craft  with  which  he 
was  familiar  on  the  Hudson  River  and  on  the  canal 
that  passed  through  Tuskingum.  Lottie,  with  re 
spect  to  the  canals,  offered  the  frank  observation 
that  they  smelt,  and  in  recognizing  a  fact  which 
travel  almost  universally  ignores  in  Holland,  she 
watched  her  chance  of  popping  up  the  window  be 
tween  herself  and  Boyne,  which  Boyne  put  down 


228  THE  KENTONS 

with  mounting  rage.  The  agriculture  which  tri 
umphed  everywhere  on  the  little  half  -  acre  plots 
lifted  fifteen  inches  above  the  waters  of  the  en 
vironing  ditches,  and  the  black  and  white  cattle 
everywhere  attesting  the  immemorial  Dutch  ideal 
of  a  cow,  were  what  at  first  occupied  Kenton,  and 
he  was  tardily  won  from  them  to  the  question  of 
fighting  over  a  country  like  that.  It  was  a  con 
cession  to  his  wife's  impassioned  interest  in  the 
overthrow  of  the  Spaniards  in  a  landscape  which 
had  evidently  not  changed  since.  She  said  it  was 
hard  to  realize  that  Holland  was  not  still  a  republic, 
and  she  was  not  very  patient  with  Breckon's  defence 
of  the  monarchy  on  the  ground  that  the  young 
Queen  was  a  very  pretty  girl. 

"  And  she  is  only  sixteen,"  Boyne  urged. 

"  Then  she  is  two  years  too  old  for  you,"  said 
Lottie. 

"  No  such  thing!"  Boyne  retorted.  "  I  was  fifteen 
in  June." 

"  Dear  me !  I  should  never  have  thought  it,"  said 
his  sister. 

Ellen  seemed  hardly  to  look  out  of  the  window 
at  anything  directly,  but  when  her  father  bade  her 
see  this  thing  and  that,  it  seemed  that  she  had 
seen  it  already.  She  said  at  last,  with  a  quiet  sigh, 
"  I  never  want  to  go  away." 

She  had  been  a  little  shy  of  Breckon  the  whole 
morning,  and  had  kept  him  asking  himself  whether 
she  was  sorry  she  had  walked  so  long  with  him 
the  night  before,  or,  having  offered  him  due  rep- 


THE  KENTONS  229 

aration  for  her  family,  she  was  again  dropping  him. 
Now  and  then  he  put  her  to  the  test  by  words  ex 
plicitly  directed  at  her,  and  she  replied  with  the 
dreamy  passivity  which  seemed  her  normal  mood, 
and  in  which  he  could  fancy  himself  half  forgotten, 
or  remembered  with  an  effort. 

In  the  midst  of  this  doubt  she  surprised  him — he 
reflected  that  she  was  always  surprising  him — by 
asking  him  how  far  it  was  from  The  Hague  to  the 
sea.  He  explained  that  The  Hague  was  in  the  sea 
like  all  the  rest  of  Holland,  but  that  if  she  meant 
the  shore,  it  was  no  distance  at  all.  Then  she  said, 
vaguely,  she  wished  they  were  going  to  the  shore. 
Her  father  asked  Breckon  if  there  was  not  a  hotel 
at  the  beach,  and  the  young  man  tried  to  give  him 
a  notion  of  the  splendors  of  the  Kurhaus  at  Scheven- 
ingen;  of  Scheveningen  itself  he  despaired  of  giv 
ing  any  just  notion. 

"  Then  we  can  go  there,"  said  the  judge,  ignor 
ing  Ellen,  in  his  decision,  as  if  she  had  nothing  to 
do  with  it. 

Lottie  interposed  a  vivid  preference  for  The 
Hague.  She  had,  she  said,  had  enough  of  the  sea 
for  one  while,  and  did  not  want  to  look  at  it  again 
till  they  sailed  for  home.  Boyne  turned  to  his  father 
as  if  a  good  deal  shaken  by  this  reasoning,  and  it 
was  Mrs.  Kenton  who  carried  the  day  for  going  first 
to  a  hotel  in  The  Hague  and  prospecting  from  there 
in  the  direction  of  Scheveningen;  Boyne  and  his 
father  could  go  down  to  the  shore  and  see  which 
they  liked  best. 


230  THE   KENTONS 

"  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  me,"  said 
Lottie.  No  one  was  alarmed  by  her  announce 
ment  that  if  she  did  not  like  Scheveningen  she 
should  stay  at  The  Hague,  whatever  the  rest  did; 
in  the  event  fortune  favored  her  going  with  her 
family. 

The  hotel  in  The  Hague  was  very  pleasant,  with 
a  garden  behind  it,  where  a  companionable  cat 
had  found  a  dry  spot,  and  where  Lottie  found  the 
cat  and  made  friends  with  it.  But  she  said  the 
hotel  was  full  of  Cook's  tourists,  whom  she  recog 
nized,  in  spite  of  her  lifelong  ignorance  of  them,  by 
a  prescience  derived  from  the  conversation  of  Mr. 
Pogis,  and  from  the  instinct  of  a  society  woman, 
already  rife  in  her.  She  found  that  she  could  not 
stay  in  a  hotel  with  Cook's  tourists,  and  she  took 
her  father's  place  in  the  exploring  party  which 
went  down  to  the  watering-place  in  the  afternoon, 
on  the  top  of  a  tram-car,  under  the  leafy  roof  of 
the  adorable  avenue  of  trees  which  embowers  the 
track  to  Scheveningen.  She  disputed  Boyne's  im 
pressions  of  the  Dutch  people,  whom  he  found  look 
ing  more  like  Americans  than  any  foreigners  he  had 
seen,  and  she  snubbed  Breckon  from  his  supposed 
charge  of  the  party.  But  after  the  start,  when  she 
declared  that  Ellen  could  not  go,  and  that  it  was 
ridiculous  for  her  to  think  of  it,  she  was  very  good 
to  her,  and  looked  after  her  safety  and  comfort  with 
a  despotic  devotion. 

At  the  Kurhaus  she  promptly  took  the  lead  in 
choosing  rooms,  for  she  had  no  doubt  of  staying 


THE   KENTONS  231 

there  after  the  first  glance  at  the  place,  and  she 
showed  a  practical  sense  in  settling  her  family, 
which  at  least  her  mother  appreciated  when  they 
were  installed  the  next  day. 

Mrs.  Kenton  could  not  make  her  husband  admire 
Lottie's  faculty  so  readily.  "  You  think  it  would 
have  been  better  for  her  to  sit  down  with  Ellen 
on  the  sand  and  dream  of  the  sea,"  she  reproached 
him,  with  a  tender  resentment  on  behalf  of  Lottie. 
"  Everybody  can't  dream." 

"  Yes,  but  I  wish  she  didn't  keep  awake  with  such 
a  din,"  said  the  judge.  After  all,  he  admired  Lot 
tie's  judgment  about  the  rooms,  and  he  censured 
her  with  a  sigh  of  relief  from  care  as  he  sank  back 
in  the  easy-chair  fronting  the  window  that  looked 
out  on  the  North  Sea ;  Lottie  had  already  made  him 
appreciate  the  view  till  he  was  almost  sick  of  it. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  sharp 
ly.  "  Do  you  want  to  be  in  Tuskingum  ?  I  suppose 
you  would  rather  be  looking  into  Kichard's  back 
yard." 

"No,"  said  the  judge,  mildly,  "this  is  very 
nice." 

"It  will  do  Ellen  good,  every  minute.  I  don't 
care  how  much  she  sits  on  the  sands  and  dreams. 
I'll  love  to  see  her." 

The  sitting  on  the  sand  was  a  survival  of  Mrs. 
Kenton's  preoccupations  of  the  sea-side.  As  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  Ellen  was  at  that  moment  sitting  in  one 
of  the  hooded  wicker  arm-chairs  which  were  scatter 
ed  over  the  whole  vast  beach  like  a  growth  of  mon- 


232  THE   KENTONS 

strous  mushrooms,  and,  confronting  her  in  cosey 
proximity,  Breckon  sat  equally  hidden  in  another 
windstuhl.  Her  father  and  her  mother  were  able 
to  keep  them  placed,  among  the  multitude  of  wind- 
stuhls,  by  the  presence  of  Lottie,  who  hovered  near 
them,  and,  with  Boyne,  fended  off  the  demure, 
wicked  -  looking  little  Scheveningen  girls.  On  a 
smaller  scale  these  were  exactly  like  their  demure, 
wicked  -  looking  Scheveningen  mothers,  and  they 
approached  with  knitting  in  their  hands,  and  with 
large  stones  folded  in  their  aprons,  which  they  had 
pilfered  from  the  mole,  and  were  trying  to  sell 
for  footstools.  The  windstuhl  men  and  they  were 
enemies,  and  when  Breckon  bribed  them  to  go  away, 
the  windstuhl  men  chased  them,  and  the  little  girls 
ran,  making  mouths  at  Boyne  over  their  shoulders. 
He  scorned  to  notice  them ;  but  he  was  obliged  to 
report  the  misconduct  of  Lottie,  who  began  mak 
ing  eyes  at  the  Dutch  officers  as  soon  as  she  could 
feel  that  Ellen  was  safely  off  her  hands.  She  was 
the  more  exasperating  and  the  more  culpable  to 
Boyne,  because  she  had  asked  him  to  walk  up  the 
beach  with  her,  and  had  then  made  the  fraternal 
promenade  a  basis  of  operations  against  the  Dutch 
military.  She  joined  her  parents  in  ignoring  Boyne's 
complaints,  and  continued  to  take  credit  for  all 
the  pleasant  facts  of  the  situation;  she  patron 
ized  her  family  as  much  for  the  table  d'hote  at 
luncheon  as  for  the  comfort  of  their  rooms.  She 
was  able  to  assure  them  that  there  was  not  a  Cook's 
tourist  in  the  hotel,  where  there  seemed  to  be  nearly 


THE   KENTONS  233 

every  other  kind  of  fellow-creature.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  week  she  had  acquaintance  of  as  many 
nationalities  as  she  could  reach  in  their  native  or 
acquired  English,  in  all  the  stages  of  haughty  toler 
ation,  vivid  intimacy,  and  cold  exhaustion.  She 
had  a  faculty  for  getting  through  with  people,  or  of 
ceasing  to  have  any  use  for  them,  which  was  perhaps 
her  best  safeguard  in  her  adventurous  flirting ;  while 
the  simple  aliens  were  still  in  the  full  tide  of  fan 
cied  success,  Lottie  was  sick  of  them  all,  and  deep 
in  an  indiscriminate  correspondence  with  her  young 
men  in  Tuskingum. 

The  letters  which  she  had  invited  from  these 
while  still  in  New  York  arrived  with  the  first  of 
those  readdressed  from  the  judge's  London  banker. 
She  had  more  letters  than  all  the  rest  of  the  family 
together,  and  counted  a  half-dozen  against  a  poor 
two  for  her  sister.  Mrs.  Kenton  cared  nothing  about 
Lottie's  letters,  but  she  was  silently  uneasy  about 
the  two  that  Ellen  carelessly  took.  She  wondered 
who  could  be  writing  to  Ellen,  especially  in  a  cover 
bearing  a  handwriting  altogether  strange  to  her. 

"It  isn't  from  Bittridge,  at  any  rate,"  she  said 
to  her  husband,  in  the  speculation  which  she  made 
him  share.  "  I  am  always  dreading  to  have  her 
find  out  what  Richard  did.  It  would  spoil  every 
thing,  I'm  afraid,  and  now  everything  is  going  so 
well.  I  do  wish  Richard  hadn't,  though,  of  course, 
he  did  it  for  the  best.  Who  do  you  think  has 
been  writing  to  her  ?" 

"Why  don't  you  ask  her?" 


234  THE   KENTONS 

"  I  suppose  she  will  tell  me  after  a  while.  I  don't 
like  to  seem  to  be  following  her  up.  One  was 
from  Bessie  Pearl,  I  think." 

Ellen  did  not  speak  of  her  letters  to  her  mother, 
and  after  waiting  a  day  or  two,  Mrs.  Kenton  could 
not  refrain  from  asking  her. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  haven't  read  them 
yet." 

"  Haven't  read  them !"  said  Mrs.  Kenton.  Then, 
after  reflection,  she  added,  "  You  are  a  strange  girl, 
Ellen,"  and  did  not  venture  to  say  more. 

"I  suppose  I  thought  I  should  have  to  answer 
them,  and  that  made  me  careless.  But  I  will  read 
them."  Her  mother  was  silent,  and  presently  Ellen 
added :  "  I  hate  to  think  of  the  past.  Don't  you, 
momma  ?" 

"It  is  certainly  very  pleasant  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Kenton,  cautiously.  "You're  enjoying  yourself — 
I  mean,  you  seem  to  be  getting  so  much  stronger." 

"  Why,  momma,  why  do  you  talk  as  if  I  had  been 
sick?"  Ellen  asked. 

"  I  mean  you're  so  much  interested." 

"Don't  I  go  about  everywhere,  like  anybody?" 
Ellen  pursued,  ignoring  her  explanation. 

"Yes,  you  certainly  do.  Mr.  Breckon  seems  to 
like  going  about." 

Ellen  did  not  respond  to  the  suggestion  except 
to  say :  "  We  go  into  all  sorts  of  places.  This  morn 
ing  we  went  up  on  that  schooner  that's  drawn  up 
on  the  beach,  and  the  old  man  who  was  there  was 
very  pleasant.  I  thought  it  was  a  wreck,  but  Mr. 


THE   KENTONS  235 

Breckon  says  they're  always  drawing  their  ships 
that  way  up  on  the  sand.  The  old  man  was  patching 
some  of  the  wood-work,  and  he  told  Mr.  Breckon — 
he  can  speak  a  little  Dutch — that  they  were  going 
to  drag  her  down  to  the  water  and  go  fishing  as 
soon  as  he  was  done.  He  seemed  to  think  we  were 
brother  and  sister."  She  flushed  a  little,  and  then 
she  said:  "I  believe  I  like  the  dunes  as  well  as 
anything.  Sometimes  when  those  curious  cold 
breaths  come  in  from  the  sea  we  climb  up  in  the 
little  hollows  on  the  other  side  and  sit  there  out  of 
the  draft.  Everybody  seems  to  do  it." 

Apparently  Ellen  was  submitting  the  propriety 
of  the  fact  to  her  mother,  who  said :  "  Yes,  it  seems 
to  be  quite  the  same  as  it  is  at  home.  I  always 
supposed  that  it  was  different  with  young  people 
here.  There  is  certainly  no  harm  in  it." 

Ellen  went  on,  irrelevantly.  "  I  like  to  go  and 
look  at  the  Scheveningen  women  mending  the  nets 
on  the  sand  back  of  the  dunes.  They  have  such 
good  gossiping  times.  They  shouted  to  us  last 
evening,  and  then  laughed  when  they  saw  us  watch 
ing  them.  When  they  got  through  their  work  they 
got  up  and  stamped  off  so  strong,  with  their  bare, 
red  arms  folded  into  their  aprons,  and  their  skirts 
sticking  out  so  stiff.  Yes,  I  should  like  to  be  like 
them." 

"You,  Ellen!" 

"Yes;  why  not?" 

Mrs.  Kenton  found  nothing  better  to  answer  than, 

"  They  were  very  material  looking,"     ^  H 

'       THt 


'TY 


236  THE   KENTONS 

"  They  are  very  happy  looking.  They  live  in  the 
present.  That  is  what  I  should  like:  living  in  the 
present,  and  not  looking  backwards  or  forwards. 
After  all,  the  present  is  the  only  life  we've  got, 
isn't  it?" 

"I  suppose  you  may  say  it  is,"  Mrs.  Kenton  ad 
mitted,  not  knowing  just  where  the  talk  was  leading, 
but  dreading  to  interrupt  it. 

"But  that  isn't  the  Scheveningen  woman's  only 
ideal.  Their  other  ideal  is  to  keep  the  place  clean. 
Saturday  afternoon  they  were  all  out  scrubbing  the 
brick  sidewalks,  and  clear  into  the  middle  of  the 
street.  We  were  almost  ashamed  to  walk  over  the 
nice  bricks,  and  we  picked  out  as  many  dirty  places 
as  we  could  find." 

Ellen  laughed,  with  a  light-hearted  gayety  that 
was  very  strange  to  her,  and  Mrs.  Kenton,  as  she 
afterwards  told  her  husband,  did  not  know  what 
to  think. 

"I  couldn't  help  wondering,"  she  said,  "whether 
the  poor  child  would  have  liked  to  keep  on  living 
in  the  present  a  month  ago." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  didn't  say  so,"  the  judge 
answered. 


XX 


FROM  the  easy  conquest  of  the  men  who  looked 
at  her  Lottie  proceeded  to  the  subjection  of  the 
women.  It  would  have  been  more  difficult  to  put 
these  down,  if  the  process  had  not  been  so  largely, 
so  almost  entirely  subjective.  As  it  was,  Lottie  ex 
changed  snubs  with  many  ladies  of  the  continental 
nationalities  who  were  never  aware  of  having  of 
fered  or  received  offence.  In  some  cases,  when  they 
fearlessly  ventured  to  speak  with  her,  they  behaved 
very  amiably,  and  seemed  to  find  her  conduct  suffi 
ciently  gracious  in  return.  In  fact,  she  was  ap 
proachable  enough,  and  had  no  shame,  before  Boyne, 
in  dismounting  from  the  high  horse  which  she  rode 
when  alone  with  him,  and  meeting  these  ladies  oh 
foot,  at  least  half-way.  She  made  several  of  them 
acquainted  with  her  mother,  who,  after  a  timorous 
reticence,  found  them  very  conversable,  with  a  range 
of  topics,  however,  that  shocked  her  American  sense 
of  decorum.  One  Dutch  lady  talked  with  such  man 
ly  freedom,  and  with  such  untrammelled  intimacy, 
that  she  was  obliged  to  send  Boyne  and  Lottie  about 
their  business,  upon  an  excuse  that  was  not  apparent 
to  the  Dutch  lady.  She  only  complimented  Mrs. 
Kenton  upon  her  children  and  their  devotion  to 


238  THE  KENTONS 

each  other,  and  when  she  learned  that  Ellen  was  also 
her  daughter,  ventured  the  surmise  that  she  was 
not  long  married. 

"It  isn't  her  husband,"  Mrs.  Kenton  explained, 
with  inward  trouble.  "  It's  just  a  gentleman  that 
came  over  with  us,"  and  she  went  with  her  trouble 
to  her  own  husband  as  soon  as  she  could. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  the  custom  to  go  around  alone 
with  young  men  as  much  as  Ellen  thinks,"  she 
suggested. 

"He  ought  to  know,"  said  the  judge.  "I  don't 
suppose  he  would  if  it  wasn't." 

"  That  is  true,"  Mrs.  Kenton  owned,  and  for  the 
time  she  put  her  misgivings  away. 

"  So  long  as  we  do  nothing  wrong,"  the  judge 
decided,  "I  don't  see  why  we  should  not  keep  to 
our  own  customs." 

"  Lottie  says  they're  not  ours,  in  New  York." 

"  Well,  we  are  not  in  New  York  now." 

They  had  neither  of  them  the  heart  to  interfere 
with  Ellen's  happiness,  for,  after  all,  Breckon  was 
careful  enough  of  the  appearances,  and  it  was  only 
his  being  constantly  with  Ellen  that  suggested  the 
Dutch  lady's  surmise.  In  fact,  the  range  of  their 
wanderings  was  not  beyond  the  dunes,  though  once 
they  went  a  little  way  on  one  of  the  neatly  bricked 
country  roads  that  led  towards  The  Hague.  As  yet 
there  had  been  no  movement  in  any  of  the  party 
to  see  the  places  that  lie  within  such  easy  tram- 
reach  of  The  Hague,  and  the  hoarded  interest  of  the 
past  in  their  keeping.  Ellen  chose  to  dwell  in  the 


THE   KENTONS  239 

actualities  which  were  an  enlargement  of  her  own 
present,  and  Lottie's  active  spirit  found  employment 
enough  in  the  amusements  at  the  Kurhaus.  She 
shopped  in  the  little  bazars  which  make  a  Saratoga 
under  the  colonnades  fronting  two  sides  of  the 
great  space  before  the  hotel,  and  she  formed  a  criti 
cal  and  exacting  taste  in  music  from  a  constant 
attendance  at  the  afternoon  concerts ;  it  is  true  that 
during  the  winter  in  New  York  she  had  cast  for 
ever  behind  her  the  unsophisticated  ideals  of  Tus- 
kingum  in  the  art,  so  that  from  the  first  she  was 
able  to  hold  the  famous  orchestra  that  played  in 
the  Kurhaus  concert  -  room  up  to  the  highest 
standard.  She  had  no  use  for  anybody  who  had 
any  use  for  rag-time,  and  she  was  terribly  severe 
with  a  young  American,  primarily  of  Boyne's  ac 
quaintance,  who  tried  to  make  favor  with  her  by 
asking  about  the  latest  coon-songs.  She  took  the 
highest  ethical  ground  with  him  about  tickets  in 
a  charitable  lottery  which  he  had  bought  from  the 
portier,  but  could  not  move  him  on  the  lower  level 
which  he  occupied.  He  offered  to  give  her  the 
picture  which  was  the  chief  prize,  in  case  he  won 
it,  and  she  assured  him  beforehand  that  she 
should  not  take  it.  She  warned  Boyne  against  him, 
under  threats  of  exposure  to  their  mother,  as  not 
a  good  influence,  but  one  afternoon,  when  the 
young  Queen  of  Holland  came  to  the  concert 
with  the  queen-mother,  Lottie  cast  her  prejudices 
to  the  winds  in  accepting  the  places  which  the 
wicked  fellow  -  countryman  offered  Boyne  and 


240  THE  KENTONS 

herself,  when  they  had  failed  to  get  any  where 
they  could  see  the  queens,  as  the  Dutch  called 
them. 

The  hotel  was  draped  with  flags,  and  banked  with 
flowers  about  the  main  entrance  where  the  queens 
were  to  arrive,  and  the  guests  massed  themselves 
in  a  dense  lane  for  them  to  pass  through.  Lottie 
could  not  fail  to  be  one  of  the  foremost  in  this 
array,  and  she  was  able  to  decide,  when  the  queens 
had  passed,  that  the  younger  would  not  be  consider 
ed  a  more  than  average  pretty  girl  in  America,  and 
that  she  was  not  very  well  dressed.  They  had  all 
stood  within  five  feet  of  her,  and  Boyne  had  appro 
priated  one  of  the  prettiest  of  the  pretty  bends  which 
the  gracious  young  creature  made  to  right  and  left, 
and  had  responded  to  it  with  an  empressement 
which  he  hoped  had  not  been  a  sacrifice  of  his  re 
publican  principles. 

During  the  concert  he  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  Queen  where  she  sat  in  the  royal  box,  with 
her  mother  and  her  ladies  behind  her,  and  wondered 
and  blushed  to  wonder  if  she  had  noticed  him  when 
he  bowed,  or  if  his  chivalric  devotion  in  applaud 
ing  her  when  the  audience  rose  to  receive  her  had 
been  more  apparent  than  that  of  others;  whether 
it  had  seemed  the  heroic  act  of  setting  forth  at 
the  head  of  her  armies,  to  beat  back  a  German  in 
vasion,  which  it  had  essentially  been,  with  his  in 
stantaneous  return  as  victor,  and  the  Queen's  ab 
dication  and  adoption  of  republican  principles  under 
conviction  of  his  reasoning,  and  her  idolized  conse- 


THE   KENTONS  241 

cration  as  the  first  chief  of  the  Dutch  republic. 
His  cheeks  glowed,  and  he  quaked  at  heart  lest 
Lottie  should  surprise  his  thoughts  and  expose  them 
to  that  sarcastic  acquaintance,  who  proved  to  be 
a  medical  student  resting  at  Scheveningen  from 
the  winter's  courses  and  clinics  in  Vienna.  He  had 
already  got  on  to  many  of  Boyne's  curves,  and  had 
sacrilegiously  suggested  the  Queen  of  Holland  when 
he  found  him  feeding  his  fancy  on  the  modern 
heroical  romances;  he  advised  him  as  an  American 
adventurer  to  compete  with  the  European  princes 
paying  court  to  her.  So  thin  a  barrier  divided  that 
malign  intelligence  from  Boyne's  most  secret 
dreams  that  he  could  never  feel  quite  safe  from  him, 
and  yet  he  was  always  finding  himself  with  him, 
now  that  he  was  separated  from  Miss  Rasmith,  and 
Mr.  Breckon  was  taken  up  so  much  with  Ellen.  On 
the  ship  he  could  put  many  things  before  Mr. 
Breckon  which  must  here  perish  in  his  breast, 
or  suffer  the  blight  of  this  Mr.  Trannel's  rail 
lery.  The  student  sat  near  the  Kentons  at  table, 
and  he  was  no  more  reverent  of  the  judge's 
modest  convictions  than  of  Boyne's  fantastic  pre 
occupations.  The  worst  of  him  was  that  you  could 
not  help  liking  him:  he  had  a  fascination  which 
the  boy  felt  while  he  dreaded  him,  and  now  and 
then  he  did  something  so  pleasant  that  when 
he  said  something  unpleasant  you  could  hardly  be 
lieve  it. 

At  the  end  of  the  concert,  when  he  rose  and  stood 
with  all  the  rest,  while  the  royal  party  left  their 

16 


242  THE   KENTONS 

box,  and  the  orchestra  played  the  Dutch  national 
hymn,  he  said,  in  a  loud  whisper,  to  Boyne :  "  Now's 
your  time,  my  boy!  Hurry  out  and  hand  her  into 
her  carriage !" 

Boyne  fairly  reeled  at  the  words  which  translated 
a  passage  of  the  wild  drama  playing  itself  in  his 
brain,  and  found  little  support  in  bidding  his  tor 
mentor,  "  Shut  up !"  The  retort,  rude  as  it  was, 
seemed  insufficient,  but  Boyne  tried  in  vain  to  think 
of  something  else.  He  tried  to  punish  him  by  sepa 
rating  Lottie  from  him,  but  failed  as  signally  in 
that.  She  went  off  with  him,  and  sat  in  a  windstuhl 
facing  his  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  with  every  effect 
of  carrying  on. 

Boyne  was  helpless,  with  his  mother  against  it, 
when  he  appealed  to  her  to  let  him  go  and  tell  Lottie 
that  she  wanted  her.  Mrs.  Kenton  said  that  she  saw 
no  harm  in  it,  that  Ellen  was  sitting  in  like  manner 
with  Mr.  Breckon. 

"  Mr.  Breckon  is  very  different,  and  Ellen  knows 
how  to  behave,"  he  urged,  but  his  mother  remained 
unmoved,  or  was  too  absent  about  something  to 
take  any  interest  in  the  matter.  In  fact,  she  was 
again  unhappy  about  Ellen,  though  she  put  on 
such  an  air  of  being  easy  about  her.  Clearly,  so 
far  as  her  maternal  surmise  could  fathom  the  case, 
Mr.  Breckon  was  more  and  more  interested  in  Ellen, 
and  it  was  evident  that  the  child  was  interested  in 
him.  The  situation  was  everything  that  was  accept 
able  to  Mrs.  Kenton,  but  she  shuddered  at  the  cloud 
which  hung  over  it,  and  which  might  any  moment 


THE   KENTONS  243 

involve  it.  Again  and  again  she  had  made  sure 
that  Lottie  had  given  Ellen  no  hint  of  Richard's 
ill-advised  vengeance  upon  Bittridge ;  but  it  was  not 
a  thing  that  could  be  kept  always,  and  the  question 
was  whether  it  could  be  kept  till  Ellen  had  accepted 
Mr.  Breckon  and  married  him.  This  was  beyond 
the  question  of  his  asking  her  to  do  so,  but  it 
was  so  much  more  important  that  Mrs.  Kenton 
was  giving  it  her  attention  first,  quite  out  of  the 
order  of  time.  Besides,  she  had  every  reason,  as 
she  felt,  to  count  upon  the  event.  Unless  he  was 
trifling  with  Ellen,  far  more  wickedly  than  Bit 
tridge,  he  was  in  love  with  her,  and  in  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton's  simple  experience  and  philosophy  of  life,  being 
in  love  was  briefly  preliminary  to  marrying.  If  she 
went  with  her  anxieties  to  her  husband,  she  had 
first  to  reduce  him  from  a  buoyant  optimism  con 
cerning  the  affair  before  she  could  get  him  to 
listen  seriously.  When  this  was  accomplished  he 
fell  into  such  despair  that  she  ended  in  lifting  him 
up  and  supporting  him  with  hopes  that  she  did 
not  feel  herself.  What  they  were  both  united  in 
was  the  conviction  that  nothing  so  good  could  hap 
pen  in  the  world,  but  they  were  equally  united  in 
the  old  American  tradition  that  they  must  not  lift 
a  finger  to  secure  this  supreme  good  for  their 
child. 

It  did  not  seem  to  them  that  leaving  the  young 
people  constantly  to  themselves  was  doing  this.  They 
interfered  with  Ellen  now  neither  more  nor  less 
than  they  had  interfered  with  her  as  to  Bittridge, 


244  THE   KEXTONS 

or  tlian  they  would  have  interfered  with  her  in 
the  case  of  any  one  else.  She  was  still  to  be 
left  entirely  to  herself  in  such  matters,  and  Mrs. 
Kenton  would  have  kept  even  her  thoughts  off  her 
if  she  could.  She  would  have  been  very  glad  to 
give  her  mind  wholly  to  the  study  of  the  great 
events  which  had  long  interested  her  here  in  their 
scene,  but  she  felt  that  until  the  conquest  of  Mr. 
Breckon  was  secured  beyond  the  hazard  of  Ellen's 
morbid  defection  at  the  supreme  moment,  she  could 
not  give  her  mind  to  the  history  of  the  Dutch  re 
public. 

"  Don't  bother  me  about  Lottie,  Boyne,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  enough  to  think  of  without  your  nonsense. 
If  this  Mr.  Trannel  is  an  American,  that  is  all  that 
is  necessary.  We  are  all  Americans  together,  and  I 
don't  believe  it  will  make  remark,  Lottie's  sitting  on 
the  beach  with  him." 

"I  don't  see  how  he's  different  from  that  Bit- 
tridge,"  said  Boyne.  "He  doesn't  care  for  any 
thing  ;  and  he  plays  the  banjo  just  like  him." 

Mrs.  Kenton  was  too  troubled  to  laugh.  She  said, 
with  finality,  "  Lottie  can  take  care  of  herself,"  and 
then  she  asked,  "  Boyne,  do  you  know  whom  Ellen's 
letters  were  from  ?" 

"  One  was  from  Bessie  Pearl — " 

"  Yes,  she  showed  me  that.  But  you  don't  know 
who  the  other  was  fror. 

"Xo;  she  didn't  tell  me.     You  know  how  close 
Ellen  is." 
•  "Yes,"  the  mother  sighed,   "she   is   very   odd." 


THE   KENTONS  245 

Then  she  added,  "Don't  you  let  her  know  that  I 
asked  you  about  her  letters." 

"  No,"  said  Boyne.  His  audience  was  apparently 
at  an  end,  but  he  seemed  still  to  have  something  on 
his  mind.  "  Momma,"  he  began  afresh. 

"  Well  ?"  she  answered,  a  little  impatiently. 

"Nothing.  Only  I  got  to  thinking,  Is  a  person 
able  to  control  their — their  fancies?" 

"  Fancies  about  what  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  About  falling  in  love." 
Boyne  blushed. 

"  Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?  You  musn't  think 
about  such  things,  a  boy  like  you!  It's  a  great 
pity  that  you  ever  knew  anything  about  that  Bit- 
tridge  business.  It's  made  you  too  bold.  But  it 
seems  to  have  been  meant  to  drag  us  down  and 
humiliate  us  in  every  way." 

"Well,  I  didn't  try  to  know  anything  about  it," 
Boyne  retorted. 

"  No,  that's  true,"  his  mother  did  him  the  justice 
to  recognize.  "Well,  what  is  it  you  want  to 
know?"  Boyne  was  too  hurt  to  answer  at  once, 
and  his  mother  had  to  coax  him  a  little.  She  did 
it  sweetly,  and  apologized  to  him  for  saying  what 
she  had  said.  After  all,  he  was  the  youngest,  and 
her  baby  still.  Her  words  and  caresses  took  effect 
at  last,  and  he  stammered  out,  "  Is  everybody  so,  or 
is  it  only  the  Kentons  that  seem  to  be  always  put 
ting — well,  their  affections — where  it's  perfectly  use 
less?" 

His    mother    pushed    him    from    her.      "Boyne, 


246  THE  KENTONS 

are  you  silly  about  that  ridiculous  old  Miss  Eas- 
mith?" 

"No!"  Boyne  shouted,  savagely,  "I'm  not!" 

"Who  is  it,  then?" 

"I  shaVt  tell  you!"  Boyne  said,  and  tears  of 
rage  and  shame  came  into  his  eyes. 


XXI 

IN  his  exile  from  his  kindred,  for  it  came  prac 
tically  to  that,  Boyne  was  able  to  add  a  fine  gloom 
to  the  state  which  he  commonly  observed  with 
himself  when  he  was  not  giving  way  to  his  morbid 
fancies  or  his  morbid  fears,  and  breaking  down  in 
helpless  subjection  to  the  nearest  member  of  his 
household.  Lottie  was  so  taken  up  with  her  student 
that  she  scarcely  quarrelled  with  him  any  more,  and 
they  had  no  longer  those  moments  of  union  in 
which  they  stood  together  against  the  world.  His 
mother  had  cast  him  off,  as  he  felt,  very  heartless 
ly,  though  it  was  really  because  she  could  not  give 
his  absurdities  due  thought  in  view  of  the  hopeful 
seriousness  of  Ellen's  affair,  and  Boyne  was  aware 
that  his  father  at  the  best  of  times  was  ignorant 
of  him  when  he  was  not  impatient  of  him.  These 
were  not  the  best  of  times  with  Judge  Kenton,  and 
Boyne  was  not  the  first  object  of  his  impatience. 
In  the  last  analysis  he  was  living  until  he  could 
get  home,  and  so  largely  in  the  hope  of  this  that 
his  wife  at  times  could  scarcely  keep  him  from 
taking  some  step  that  would  decide  the  matter 
between  Ellen  and  Breckon  at  once.  They  were 
tacitly  agreed  that  they  were  waiting  for  nothing 


248  THE   KENTONS 

else,  and,  without  making  their  agreement  explicit, 
she  was  able  to  quell  him  by  asking  what  he  expected 
to  do  in  case  there  was  nothing  between  them  ?  Was 
he  going  to  take  the  child  back  to  Tuskingum, 
which  was  the  same  as  taking  her  back  to  Bittridge  \ 
It  hurt  her  to  confront  him  with  this  question,  and 
she  tried  other  devices  for  staying  and  appeasing 
him.  She  begged  him  now,  seeing  Boyne  so  for 
lorn,  and  hanging  about  the  hotel  alone,  or  moping 
over  those  ridiculous  books  of  his,  to  go  off  with 
the  boy  somewhere  and  see  the  interesting  places 
within  such  easy  reach,  like  Leyden  and  Delft. 
If  he  cared  nothing  for  the  place  where  William 
the  Silent  was  shot,  he  ought  to  see  the  place  that 
the  Pilgrims  started  from.  She  had  counted  upon 
doing  those  places  herself,  with  her  husband,  and  it 
was  in  a  sacrifice  of  her  ideal  that  she  now  urged 
him  to  go  with  Boyne.  But  her  preoccupation  with 
Ellen's  affair  forbade  her  self-abandon  to  those  high 
historical  interests  to  which  she  urged  his  devotion. 
She  might  have  gone  with  him  and  Boyne,  but  then 
she  must  have  left  the  larger  half  of  her  divided 
mind  with  Ellen,  not  to  speak  of  Lottie,  who  refused 
to  be  a  party  to  any  such  excursion.  Mrs.  Kenton 
felt  the  disappointment  and  grieved  at  it,  but  not 
without  hope  of  repairing  it  later,  and  she  did  not 
cease  from  entreating  the  judge  to  do  what  he  could 
at  once  towards  fulfilling  the  desires  she  postponed. 
Once  she  prevailed  with  him,  and  really  got  him 
and  Boyne  off  for  a  day,  but  they  came  back  early, 
with  signs  of  having  bored  each  other  intolerably, 


THE   KENTONS  249 

and  after  that  it  was  Boyne,  as  much  as  his  father, 
who  relucted  from  joint  expeditions.  Boyne  did 
not  so  much  object  to  going  alone,  and  his  father 
said  it  was  best  to  let  him,  though  his  mother  had 
her  fears  for  her  youngest.  He  spent  a  good  deal 
of  his  time  on  the  trams  between  Scheveningen  and 
The  Hague,  and  he  was  understood  to  have  explored 
the  capital  pretty  thoroughly.  In  fact,  he  did  go 
about  with  a  valet  de  place,  whom  he  got  at  a  cheap 
rate,  and  with  whom  he  conversed  upon  the  state 
of  the  country  and  its  political  affairs.  The  valet 
said  that  the  only  enemy  that  Holland  could  fear 
was  Germany,  but  an  invasion  from  that  quarter 
could  be  easily  repulsed  by  cutting  the  dikes  and 
drowning  the  invaders.  The  sea,  he  taught  Boyne, 
was  the  great  defence  of  Holland,  and  it  was  a  waste 
of  money  to  keep  such  an  army  as  the  Dutch  had; 
but  neither  the  sea  nor  the  sword  could  drive  out 
the  Germans  if  once  they  insidiously  married  a 
Prussian  prince  to  the  Dutch  Queen. 

There  seemed  to  be  no  getting  away  from  the 
Queen,  for  Boyne.  The  valet  not  only  talked  about 
her,  as  the  pleasantest  subject  which  he  could  find, 
but  he  insisted  upon  showing  Boyne  all  her  palaces. 
He  took  him  into  the  Parliament  house,  and  showed 
him  where  she  sat  while  the  queen-mother  read 
the  address  from  the  throne.  He  introduced  him 
at  a  bazar  where  the  shop-girl  who  spoke  English 
better  than  Boyne,  or  at  least  without  the  central 
Ohio  accent,  wanted  to  sell  him  a  miniature  of  the 
Queen  on  porcelain.  She  said  the  Queen  was  such 


250  THE  KENTONS 

a  nice  girl,  and  she  was  herself  such  a  nice  girl 
that  Boyne  blushed  a  little  in  looking  at  her.  He 
bought  the  miniature,  and  then  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it;  if  any  of  the  family,  if  Lottie, 
found  out  that  he  had  it,  or  that  Trannel,  he  should 
have  no  peace  any  more.  He  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
provisionally,  and  when  he  came  giddily  out  of  the 
shop  he  felt  himself  taken  by  the  elbow  and  placed 
against  the  wall  by  the  valet,  who  said  the  queens 
were  coming.  They  drove  down  slowly  through 
the  crowded,  narrow  street,  bowing  right  and  left 
to  the  people  flattened  against  the  shops,  and  again 
Boyne  saw  her  so  near  that  he  could  have  reached 
out  his  hand  and  almost  touched  hers. 

The  consciousness  of  this  was  so  strong  in  him 
that  he  wondered  whether  he  had  not  tried  to  do 
so.  If  he  had  he  would  have  been  arrested — he  knew 
that;  and  so  he  knew  that  he  had  not  done  it.  He 
knew  that  he  imagined  doing  so  because  it  would 
be  so  awful  to  have  done  it,  and  he  imagined  being 
in  love  with  her  because  it  would  be  so  frantic.  At 
the  same  time  he  dramatized  an  event  in  which 
he  died  for  her,  and  she  became  aware  of  his  hope 
less  passion  at  the  last  moment,  while  the  anarchist 
from  whom  he  had  saved  her  confessed  that  the 
bomb  had  been  meant  for  her.  Perhaps  it  was  a 
pistol. 

He  escaped  from  the  valet  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  went  back  to  Scheveningen  limp  from  this  ex 
perience,  but  the  queens  were  before  him.  They  had 
driven  down  to  visit  the  studio  of  a  famous  Dutch 


THE   KENTONS  251 

painter  there,  and  again  the  doom  was  on  Boyne 
to  press  forward  with  the  other  spectators  and  wait 
for  the  queens  to  appear  and  get  into  their  carriage. 
The  young  Queen's  looks  were  stamped  in  Boyne's 
consciousness,  so  that  he  saw  her  wherever  he  turned, 
like  the  sun  when  one  has  gazed  at  it.  He  thought 
how  that  Trannel  had  said  he  ought  to  hand  her 
into  her  carriage,  and  he  shrank  away  for  fear  he 
should  try  to  do  so,  but  he  could  not  leave  the  place 
till  she  had  come  out  with  the  queen -mother 
and  driven  off.  Then  he  went  slowly  and  breath 
lessly  into  the  hotel,  feeling  the  Queen's  miniature 
in  his  pocket.  It  made  his  heart  stand  still,  and 
then  bound  forward.  He  wondered  again  what  he 
should  do  with  it.  If  he  kept  it,  Lottie  would  be 
sure  to  find  it,  and  he  could  not  bring  himself  to 
the  sacrilege  of  destroying  it.  He  thought  he  would 
walk  out  on  the  breakwater  as  far  as  he  could 
and  throw  it  into  the  sea,  but  when  he  got  to  the 
end  of  the  mole  he  could  not  do  so.  He  decided 
that  he  would  give  it  to  Ellen  to  keep  for  him,  and 
not  let  Lottie  see  it;  or  perhaps  he  might  pretend 
he  had  bought  it  for  her.  He  could  not  do  that, 
though,  for  it  would  not  be  true,  and  if  he  did  he 
could  not  ask  her  to  keep  it  from  Lottie. 

At  dinner  Mr.  Trannel  told  him  he  ought  to 
have  been  there  to  see  the  Queen;  that  she  had 
asked  especially  for  him,  and  wanted  to  know  if 
they  had  not  sent  up  her  card  to  him.  Boyne  medi 
tated  an  apt  answer  through  all  the  courses,  but 
he  had  not  thought  of  one  when  they  had  come 


252  THE   KENTONS 

to  the  corbeille  de  fruits,  and  he  was  forced  to  go 
to  bed  without  having  avenged  himself. 

In  taking  rooms  for  her  family  at  the  hotel,  Lot 
tie  had  arranged  for  her  emancipation  from  the 
thraldom  of  rooming  with  Ellen.  She  said  that  had 
gone  on  long  enough;  if  she  was  grown  up  at  all, 
she  was  grown  up  enough  %to  have  a  room  of  her 
own,  and  her  mother  had  yielded  to  reasoning  which 
began  and  ended  with  this  position.  She  would 
have  interfered  so  far  as  to  put  Lottie  into  the 
room  next  her,  but  Lottie  said  that  if  Boyne  was 
the  baby  he  ought  to  be  next  his  mother;  Ellen 
might  come  next  him,  but  she  was  going  to  have 
the  room  that  was  furthest  from  any  implication 
of  the  dependence  in  which  she  had  languished; 
and  her  mother  submitted  again.  Boyne  was  not 
sorry;  there  had  always  been  hours  of  the  night 
when  he  felt  the  need  of  getting  at  his  mother  for 
reassurance  as  to  forebodings  which  his  fancy  con 
jured  up  to  trouble  him  in  the  wakeful  dark.  It 
was  understood  that  he  might  freely  do  this,  and 
though  the  judge  inwardly  fretted,  he  could  not 
deny  the  boy  the  comfort  of  his  mother's  encour 
aging  love.  Boyne's  visits  woke  him,  fcut  he  slept 
the  better  for  indulging  in  the  young  nerves  that 
tremor  from  impressions  against  which  the  old 
nerves  are  proof.  But  now,  in  the  strange  fatality 
which  seemed  to  involve  him,  Boyne  could  not  go 
to  his  mother.  It  was  too  weirdly  intimate,  even 
for  her;  besides,  when  he  had  already  tried  to  seek 
her  counsel  she  had  ignorantly  repelled  him. 


THE   KENTONS  253 

The  night  after  his  day  in  The  Hague,  when  he 
could  bear  it  no  longer,  he  put  on  his  dressing- 
gown  and  softly  opened  Ellen's  door.  "Are  you 
awake,  Ellen  ?"  he  whispered. 

"Yes.  What  is  it,  Boyne?"  her  gentle  voice 
asked. 

He  came  and  sat  down  by  her  bed  and  stole  his 
hand  into  hers,  which  she  put  out  to  him.  The 
watery  moonlight  dripped  into  the  room  at  the 
edges  of  the  shades,  and  the  long  wash  of  the  sea 
made  itself  regularly  heard  on  the  sands. 

"Can't  you  sleep?"  Ellen  asked  again.  "Are 
you  homesick  ?" 

"Not  exactly  that.  But  it  does  seem  rather 
strange  for  us  to  be  off  here  so  far,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"Yes,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  forgive  myself  for 
making  you  come,"  said  Ellen,  but  her  voice  did 
not  sound  as  if  she  were  very  unhappy. 

"You  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Boyne,  and  the 
words  suggested  a  question  to  him.  "Do  you  be 
lieve  that  such  things  are  ordered,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Everything  is  ordered,  isn't  it  ?" 

"I  suppose  so.  And  if  they  are,  we're  not  to 
blame  for  what  happens." 

"  Not  if  we  try  to  do  right." 

"  Of  course.  The  Kentons  always  do  that,"  said 
Boyne,  with  the  faith  in  his  family  that  did  not 
fail  him  in  the  darkest  hour.  "But  what  I  mean 
is  that  if  anything  comes  on  you  that  you  can't 
foresee  and  you  can't  get  out  of — "  The  next 
step  was  not  clear,  and  Boyne  paused.  He  asked, 


254  THE  KENTONS 

"Do  you  think  that  we  can  control  our  feelings, 
Ellen?" 

"About  what?" 

"  Well,  about  persons — persons  that  we  like."  He 
added,  for  safety,  "  Or  dislike." 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  said  Ellen,  sadly.  "  We  ought 
to  like  persons  and  dislike  them  for  some  good  rea 
son,  but  we  don't." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean,"  said  Boyne,  with  a 
long  breath.  "  Sometimes  it  seems  like  a  kind  of 
possession,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"  It  seems  more  like  that  when  we  like  them," 
Ellen  said. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  mean.  If  a  person  was  to 
take  a  fancy  to  some  one  that  was  above  him,  that 
was  richer,  or  older,  he  wouldn't  be  to  blame  for 
it,  would  he?" 

"  Was  that  what  you  wanted  to  ask  me  about  ?" 

Boyne  hesitated.  "Yes,"  he  said.  He  was  in 
for  it  now. 

Ellen  had  not  noticed  Boyne's  absorption  with 
Miss  Rasmith  on  the  ship,  but  she  vaguely  remem 
bered  hearing  Lottie  tease  him  about  her,  and  she 
said  now,  "  He  wouldn't  be  to  blame  for  it  if  he 
couldn't  help  it,  but  if  the  person  was  much  older  it 
would  be  a  pity." 

"  Oh,  she  isn't  so  very  much  older,"  said  Boyne, 
more  cheerfully  than  he  had  spoken  before. 

"Is  it  somebody  that  you  have  taken  a  fancy  to, 
Boyne?" 

"I  don't  know,  Ellen.    That's  what  makes  it  so 


THE   KENTONS  255 

kind  of  awful.  I  can't  tell  whether  it's  a  real  fancy, 
or  I  only  think  it  is.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is,  and 
sometimes  I  think  that  I  think  so  because  I  am 
afraid  to  believe  it.  Do  you  understand  that, 
Ellen?" 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  do.  But  you  oughtn't 
to  let  your  fancy  run  away  with  you,  Boyne.  What 
a  queer  boy !" 

"It's  a  kind  of  fascination,  I  suppose.  But 
whether  it's  a  real  fancy  or  an  unreal  one,  I  can't 
get  away  from  it." 

"  Poor  boy !"  said  his  sister. 

"Perhaps  it's  those  books.  Sometimes  I  think 
it  is,  and  I  laugh  at  the  whole  idea;  and  then 
again  it's  so  strong  that  I  can't  get  away  from  it. 
Ellen!" 

"Well,  Boyne?" 

"I  could  tell  you  who  it  is,  if  you  think  that 
would  do  any  good  —  if  you  think  it  would  help 
me  to  see  it  in  the  true  light,  or  you  could  help  me 
more  by  knowing  who  it  is  than  you  can  now." 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  anybody  that  you  can't  respect, 
Boyne?" 

"  No,  indeed !  It's  somebody  you  would  never 
dream  of." 

"  Well  ?"  Ellen  was  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  but 
he  could  not  get  the  words  out,  even  to  her. 

"  I  guess  I'll  tell  you  some  other  time.  Maybe  I 
can  get  over  it  myself." 

"  It  would  be  the  best  way  if  you  could." 

He  rose  and  left  her  bedside,  and  then  he  came 


256  THE   KENTONS 

back.  "  Ellen,  I've  got  something  that  I  wish  you 
would  keep  for  me." 

"  What  is  it?    Of  course  I  will." 

"Well,  it's — something  I  don't  want  you  to  let 
Lottie  know  I've  got.  She  tells  that  Mr.  Trannel 
everything,  and  then  he  wants  to  make  fun.  Do  you 
think  he's  so  very  witty  2" 

"  I  can't  help  laughing  at  some  things  he  says." 

"  I  suppose  he  is,"  Boyne  ruefully  admitted.  "  But 
that  doesn't  make  you  like  him  any  better.  Well, 
if  you  won't  tell  Lottie,  I'll  give  it  to  you  now." 

"I  won't  tell  anything  that  you  don't  want  me 
to,  Boyne." 

"  It's  nothing.  It's  just — a  picture  of  the  Queen 
on  porcelain,  that  I  got  in  The  Hague.  The  guide 
took  me  into  the  store,  and  I  thought  I  ought  to  get 
something." 

"  Oh,  that's  very  nice,  Boyne.  I  do  like  the  Queen 
so  much.  She's  so  sweet !" 

"  Yes,  isn't  she  ?"  said  Boyne,  glad  of  Ellen's  ap 
proval.  So  far,  at  least,  he  was  not  wrong.  "  Here 
it  is  now." 

He  put  the  miniature  in  Ellen's  hand.  She  lifted 
herself  on  her  elbow.  "  Light  the  candle  and  let  me 
see  it." 

"  No,  no !"  he  entreated.  "  It  might  wake  Lottie, 
and — and —  Good-night,  Ellen." 

"  Can  you  go  to  sleep  now,  Boyne  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.    I'm  all  right.    Good-night." 

"  Good-night,  then." 

Boyne  stooped  over  and  kissed  her,  and  went  to 


THE   KENTONS  257 

the  door.     He  came  back  and  asked,  "You  don't 

think  it  was  silly,  or  anything,  for  me  to  get  it?" 
"  No,  indeed !    It's  just  what  you  will  like  to  have 

when  you  get  home.     We've  all  seen  her  so  often. 

I'll  put  it  in  my  trunk,  and  nobody  shall  know  about 

it  till  we're  safely  back  in  Tuskingum." 
Boyne  sighed  deeply.    "  Yes,  that's  what  I  meant. 

Good-night." 
"  Good-night,  Boyne." 

"  I  hope  I  haven't  waked  you  up  too  much  ?" 
"  Oh  no.    I  can  get  to  sleep  easily  again." 
"  Well,  good-night."    Boyne  sighed  again,  but  not 

so  deeply,  and  this  time  he  went  out. 

17 

- 


XXII 

MRS.  KENTON  woke  with  the  clear  vision  which  is 
sometimes  vouchsafed  to  people  whose  eyes  are 
holden  at  other  hours  of  the  day.  She  had  heard 
Boyne  opening  and  shutting  Ellen's  door,  and  her 
heart  smote  her  that  he  should  have  gone  to  his 
sister  with  whatever  trouble  he  was  in  rather  than 
come  to  his  mother.  It  was  natural  that  she  should 
put  the  blame  on  her  husband,  and  "  Now,  Mr. 
Kenton,"  she  began,  with  an  austerity  of  voice  which 
he  recognized  before  he  was  well  awake,  "if  you 
won't  take  Boyne  off  somewhere  to-day,  /  will.  I 
think  we  had  better  all  go.  We  have  been  here  a 
whole  fortnight,  and  we  have  got  thoroughly  rested, 
and  there  is  no  excuse  for  our  wasting  our  time  any 
longer.  If  we  are  going  to  see  Holland,  we  had 
better  begin  doing  it." 

The  judge  gave  a  general  assent,  and  said  that 
if  she  wanted  to  go  to  Flushing  he  supposed  he  could 
find  some  garden-seeds  there,  in  the  flower  and  vege 
table  nurseries,  which  would  be  adapted  to  the 
climate  of  Tuskingum,  and  they  could  all  put  in  the 
day  pleasantly,  looking  round  the  place.  Whether 
it  was  the  suggestion  of  Tuskingum  in  relation  to 
Flushing  that  decided  her  against  the  place,  or 


THE  KENTONS  259 

whether  she  had  really  meant  to  go  to  Leyden,  she 
now  expressed  the  wish,  as  vividly  as  if  it  were 
novel,  to  explore  the  scene  of  the  Pilgrims'  sojourn 
before  they  sailed  for  Plymouth,  and  she  reproached 
him  for  not  caring  about  the  place  when  they  both 
used  to  take  such  an  interest  in  it  at  home. 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  "if  I  were  at  home  I 
should  take  an  interest  in  it  here." 

This  provoked  her  to  a  silence  which  he  thought 
it  best  to  break  in  tacit  compliance  with  her  wish, 
and  he  asked,  "  Do  you  propose  taking  the  whole 
family  and  the  appurtenances?  We  shall  be  rather 
a  large  party." 

"Ellen  would  wish  to  go,  and  I  suppose  Mr. 
Breckon.  We  couldn't  very  well  go  without  them." 

"And  how  about  Lottie  and  that  young  Tran- 
nel?" 

"We  can't  leave  him  out,  very  well.  I  wish  we 
could.  I  don't  like  him." 

"  There's  nothing  easier  than  not  asking  him, 
if  you  don't  want  him." 

"  Yes,  there  is,  when  you've  got  a  girl  like  Lottie 
to  deal  with.  Quite  likely  she  would  ask  him  herself. 
We  must  take  him  because  we  can't  leave  her." 

"Yes,  I  reckon,"  the  judge  acquiesced. 

"I'm  glad,"  Mrs.  Kenton  said,  after  a  moment, 
"  that  it  isn't  Ellen  he's  after ;  it  almost  reconciles 
me  to  his  being  with  Lottie  so  much.  I  only  wonder 
he  doesn't  take  to  Ellen,  he's  so  much  like  that — " 

She  did  not  say  out  what  was  in  her  mind,  but  her 
husband  knew.  "Yes,  I've  noticed  it.  This  young 


260  THE   KENTONS 

Breckon  was  quite  enough  so,  for  my  taste.  I  don't 
know  what  it  is  that  just  saves  him  from  it." 

"  He's  good.  You  could  tell  that  from  the  begin 
ning." 

They  went  off  upon  the  situation  that,  superficially 
or  subliminally,  was  always  interesting  them  beyond 
anything  in  the  world,  and  they  did  not  openly 
recur  to  Mrs.  Kenton's  plan  for  the  day  till  they 
met  their  children  at  breakfast.  It  was  a  meal 
at  which  Breckon  and  Trannel  were  both  apt  to 
join  them,  where  they  took  it  at  two  of  the  tables 
on  the  broad,  seaward  piazza  of  the  hotel  when  the 
weather  was  fine.  Both  the  young  men  now  ap 
plauded  her  plan,  in  their  different  sorts.  It  was 
easily  arranged  that  they  should  go  by  train  and 
not  by  tram  from  The  Hague.  The  train  was  chosen, 
and  Mrs.  Kenton,  when  she  went  to  her  room  to 
begin  the  preparations  for  a  day's  pleasure  which 
constitute  so  distinctly  a  part  of  its  pain,  imagined 
that  everything  was  settled.  She  had  scarcely  closed 
the  door  behind  her  when  Lottie  opened  it  and  shut 
it  again  behind  her. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  in  the  new  style  of  address 
to  which  she  was  habituating  Mrs.  Kenton,  after 
having  so  long  called  her  momma,  "  I  am  not  going 
with  you." 

"Indeed  you  are,  then!"  her  mother  retorted. 
"  Do  you  think  I  would  leave  you  here  all  day  with 
that  fellow  ?  A  nice  talk  we  should  make !" 

"  You  are  perfectly  welcome  to  that  fellow,  mother, 
and  as  he's  accepted  he  will  have  to  go  with  you,  and 


THE  KENTONS  261 

there  won't  be  any  talk.  But,  as  I  remarked  before, 
I'm  not  going." 

"  Why  aren't  you  going,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Because  I  don't  like  the  company." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Have  you  got  anything 
against  Mr.  Breckon?" 

"  He's  insipid,  but  as  long  as  Ellen  don't  mind  it 
I  don't  care.  I  object  to  Mr.  Trannel." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  see  why  I  should  have  to  tell  you.  If 
I  said  I  liked  him  you  might  want  to  know,  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  my  not  liking  him  is  my  own 
affair."  There  was  a  kind  of  logic  in  this  that 
silenced  Mrs.  Kenton  for  the  moment.  In  view  of 
her  advantage,  Lottie  relented  so  far  as  to  add,  "  I've 
found  out  something  about  him." 

Mrs.  Kenton  was  imperative  in  her  alarm.  "  What 
is  it?"  she  demanded. 

Lottie  answered,  obliquely :  "  Well,  I  didn't  leave 
The  Hague  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  then  take  up  with 
one  of  them  at  Scheveningen." 

"One  of  what?" 

"  Cook's  tourists.,  if  you  must  know,  mother.  Mr. 
Trannel,  as  you  call  him,  is  a  Cook's  tourist,  and 
that's  the  end  of  it.  I  have  got  no  use  for  him  from 
this  out." 

Mrs.  Kenton  was  daunted,  and  not  for  the  first 
time,  by  her  daughter's  superior  knowledge  of  life. 
She  could  put  Boyne  down  sometimes,  though  not 
always,  when  he  attempted  to  impose  a  novel  code 
of  manners  or  morals  upon  her,  but  she  could  not 


262  THE   KENTONS 

cope  with  Lottie.  In  the  present  case  she  could  only 
ask,  "Well ?" 

"Well,  they're  the  cheapest  of  the  cheap.  He 
actually  showed  me  his  coupons,  and  tried  to  put  me 
down  with  the  idea  that  everybody  used  them. 
But  I  guess  he  found  it  wouldn't  work.  He  said  if 
you  were  not  personally  conducted  it  was  all  right." 

"  Now,  Lottie,  you  have  got  to  tell  me  just  what 
you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  and  from  having 
stood  during  this  parley,  she  sat  down  to  hear 
Lottie  out  at  her  leisure.  But  if  there  was  anything 
more  difficult  than  for  Lottie  to  be  explicit  it  was 
to  make  her  be  so,  and  in  the  end  Mrs.  Kenton. 
was  scarcely  wiser  than  she  was  at  the  beginning 
as  to  her  daughter's  reasons.  It  appeared  that  if 
you  wanted  to  be  cheap  you  could  travel  with  those 
coupons,  and  Lottie  did  not  wish  to  be  cheap,  or 
have  anything  to  do  with  those  who  were.  The 
Kentons  had  always  held  up  their  heads,  and  if 
Ellen  had  chosen  to  disgrace  them  with  Bittridge, 
Dick  had  made  it  all  right,  and  she  at  least  was 
not  going  to  do  anything  that  she  would  be  ashamed 
of.  She  was  going  to  stay  at  home,  and  have  her 
meals  in  her  room  till  they  got  back. 

Her  mother  paid  no  heed  to  her  repeated  declara 
tion.  "Lottie,"  she  asked,  with  the  heart-quake 
that  the  thought  of  Kichard's  act  always  gave  her 
with  reference  to  Ellen,  "  have  you  ever  let  out  the 
least  hint  of  that?" 

"  Of  course  I  haven't,"  Lottie  scornfully  retorted. 
"  I  hope  I  know  what  a  crank  Ellen  is." 


THE   KENTONS  263 

They  were  not  just  the  terms  in  which  Mrs. 
Kenton  would  have  chosen  to  be  reassured,  but 
she  was  glad  to  be  assured  in  any  terms.  She 
said,  vaguely :  "  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  7  will 
stay  at  home,  too.  All  this  has  given  me  a  bad  head 
ache." 

"I  was  going  to  have  a  headache  myself,"  said 
Lottie,  with  injury.  "But  I  suppose  I  can  get  on 
along  without.  I  can  just  simply  say  I'm  not 
going.  If  he  proposes  to  stay,  too,  I  can  soon 
settle  that." 

"The  great  difficulty  will  be  to  get  your  father 
to  go." 

"You  can  make  Ellen  make  him,"  Lottie  sug 
gested. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  with  such  in 
creasing  absence  that  her  daughter  required  of 
her: 

"Are  you  staying  on  my  account?" 

"I  think  you  had  better  not  be  left  alone  the 
whole  day.  But  I  am  not  staying  on  your  account. 
I  don't  believe  we  had  so  many  of  us  better  go. 
It  might  look  a  little  pointed." 

Lottie  laughed  harshly.  "  I  guess  Mr.  Breckon 
wouldn't  see  the  point,  he's  so  perfectly  gone." 

"Do  you  really  believe  it,  Lottie?"  Mrs.  Kenton 
entreated,  with  a  sudden  tenderness  for  her  younger 
daughter  such  as  she  did  not  always  feel. 

"  I  should  think  anybody  would  believe  it — any 
body  but  Ellen." 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Kenton  dreamily  assented. 


264  THE   KENTONS 

Lottie  made  her  way  to  the  door.  "  Well,  if  you 
do  stay,  mother,  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  hanging 
round  me  all  day.  I  can  chaperon  myself." 

"Lottie,"  her  mother  tried  to  stay  her,  "I  wish 
you  would  go.  I  don't  believe  that  Mr.  Trannel 
will  be  much  of  an  addition.  He  will  be  on  your 
poor  father's  hands  all  day,  or  else  Ellen's,  and  if 
you  went  you  could  help  off." 

"  Thank  you,  mother.  I've  had  quite  all  I  want 
of  Mr.  Trannel.  You  can  tell  him  he  needn't  go,  if 
you  want  to." 

Lottie  at  least  did  not  leave  her  mother  to  make 
her  excuses  to  the  party  when  they  met  for  start 
ing.  Mrs.  Kenton  had  deferred  her  own  till  she 
thought  it  was  too  late  for  her  husband  to  retreat, 
and  then  bunglingly  made  them,  with  so  much  iter 
ation  that  it  seemed  to  her  it  would  have  been 
far  less  pointed,  as  concerned  Mr.  Breckon,  if  she 
had  gone.  Lottie  sunnily  announced  that  she  was 
going  to  stay  with  her  mother,  and  did  not  even 
try  to  account  for  her  defection  to  Mr.  Trannel. 

"What's  the  matter  with  my  staying,  too?"  he 
asked.  "  It  seems  to  me  there  are  four  wheels  to 
this  coach  now." 

He  had  addressed  his  misgiving  more  to  Lottie 
than  the  rest;  but  with  the  same  sunny  indifference 
to  the  consequence  for  others  that  she  had  put  on 
in  stating  her  decision,  she  now  discharged  herself 
from  further  responsibility  by  turning  on  her  heel 
and  leaving  it  with  the  party  generally.  In  the 
circumstances  Mr.  Trannel  had  no  choice  but  to  go, 


THE   KENTONS  265 

and   he   was   supported,   possibly,   by   the  hope   of 
taking  it  out  of  Lottie  some  other  time. 

It  was  more  difficult  for  Mrs.  Kenton  to  get  rid 
of  the  judge,  but  an  inscrutable  frown  goes  far 
in  such  exigencies.  It  seems  to  explain,  and  it  cer 
tainly  warns,  and  the  husband  on  whom  it  is  bent 
never  knows,  even  after  the  longest  experience, 
whether  he  had  better  inquire  further.  Usually  he 
decides  that  he  had  better  not,  and  Judge  Kenton 
went  off  towards  the  tram  with  Boyne  in  the  cloud 
of  mystery  which  involved  them  both  as  to  Mrs. 
Kenton's  meaning. 


XXIII 

TRANNEL  attached  himself  as  well  as  he  could  to 
Breckon  and  Ellen,  and  Breckon  had  an  opportunity 
not  fully  offered  him  before  to  note  a  likeness  be 
tween  himself  and  a  fellow-man  whom  he  was  aware 
of  not  liking,  though  he  tried  to  love  him,  as  he 
felt  it  right  to  love  all  men.  He  thought  he  had 
not  been  quite  sympathetic  enough  with  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton  in  her  having  to  stay  behind,  and  he  tried  to 
make  it  up  to  Mr.  Trannel  in  his  having  to  come. 
He  invented  civilities  to  show  him,  and  ceded  his 
place  next  Ellen  as  if  Trannel  had  a  right  to  it. 
Trannel  ignored  him  in  keeping  it,  unless  it  was 
recognizing  Breckon  to  say,  "  Oh,  I  hope  I'm  not 
in  your  way,  old  fellow?"  and  then  making  jokes 
to  Ellen.  Breckon  could  not  say  the  jokes  were 
bad,  though  the  taste  of  them  seemed  to  him  so. 
The  man  had  a  fleering  wit,  which  scorched  what 
ever  he  turned  it  upon,  and  yet  it  was  wit.  "  Why 
don't  you  try  him  in  American?"  he  asked  at  the 
failure  of  Breckon  and  the  tram  conductor  to 
understand  each  other  in  Dutch.  He  tried  the 
conductor  himself  in  American,  and  he  was  so  de 
plorably  funny  that  it  was  hard  for  Breckon  to 
help  being  particeps  criminis,  at  least  in  a  laugh. 


THE   KENTONS  267 

He  asked  himself  if  that  were  really  the  kind 
of  man  he  was,  and  he  grew  silent  and  melancholy 
in  the  fear  that  it  was  a  good  deal  the  sort  of 
man.  To  this  morbid  fancy  Trannel  seemed  him 
self  in  a  sort  of  excess,  or  what  he  would  be  if  he 
were  logically  ultimated.  He  remembered  all  the 
triviality  of  his  behavior  with  Ellen  at  first,  and 
rather  sickened  at  the  thought  of  some  of  his  early 
pleasantries.  She  was  talking  gayly  now  with  Tran 
nel,  and  Breckon  wondered  whether  she  was  falling 
under  the  charm  that  he  felt  in  him,  in  spite  of 
himself. 

If  she  was,  her  father  was  not.  The  judge  sat 
on  the  other  side  of  the  car,  and  unmistakably  glow 
ered  at  the  fellow's  attempts  to  make  himself  amus 
ing  to  Ellen.  Trannel  himself  was  not  insensible 
to  the  judge's  mood.  Now  and  then  he  said  some 
thing  to  intensify  it.  He  patronized  the  judge  and 
he  made  fun  of  the  tourist  character  in  which  Boyne 
had  got  himself  up,  with  a  field-glass  slung  by  a 
strap  under  one  arm  and  a  red  Baedeker  in  his 
hand.  He  sputtered  with  malign  laughter  at  a 
rather  gorgeous  necktie  which  Boyne  had  put  on  for 
the  day,  and  said  it  was  not  a  very  good  match  for 
the  Baedeker. 

Boyne  retorted  rudely,  and  that  amused  Trannel 
still  more.  He  became  personal  to  Breckon,  and 
noted  the  unclerical  cut  of  his  clothes.  He  said 
he  ought  to  have  put  on  his  uniform  for  an  expedi 
tion  like  that,  in  case  they  got  into  any  sort  of 
trouble.  To  Ellen  alone  he  was  inoffensive,  unless 


268  THE   KENTONS 

he  overdid  his  polite  attentions  to  her  in  carrying 
her  parasol  for  her,  and  helping  her  out  of  the 
tram,  when  they  arrived,  shouldering  every  one  else 
away,  and  making  haste  to  separate  her  from  the 
others  and  then  to  walk  on  with  her  a  little  in  ad 
vance. 

Suddenly  he  dropped  her,  and  fell  back  to  Boyne 
and  his  father,  while  Breckon  hastened  forward  to 
her  side.  Trannel  put  his  arm  across  Boyne's  shoul 
ders  and  asked  him  if  he  were  mad,  and  then  laughed 
at  him.  "  You're  all  right,  Boyne,  but  you  oughtn't 
to  be  so  approachable.  You  ought  to  put  on  more 
dignity,  and  repel  familiarity." 

Boyne  could  only  twitch  away  in  silence  that  he 
made  as  haughty  as  he  could,  but  not  so  haughty 
that  Trannel  did  not  find  it  laughable,  and  he 
laughed  in  a  teasing  way  that  made  Breckon  more 
and  more  serious.  He  was  aware  of  becoming  even 
solemn  with  the  question  of  his  likeness  to  Trannel. 
He  was  of  Trannel's  quality,  and  their  difference 
was  a  matter  of  quantity,  and  there  was  not  enough 
difference.  In  his  sense  of  their  likeness  Breckon 
vowed  himself  to  a  gravity  of  behavior  evermore 
which  he  should  not  probably  be  •  able  to  observe, 
but  the  sample  he  now  displayed  did  not  escape  the 
keen  vigilance  of  Trannel. 

"  With  the  exception  of  Miss  Kenton,"  he  address 
ed  himself  to  the  party,  "you're  all  so  easy  and 
careless  that  if  you  don't  look  out  you'll  lose  me. 
Miss  Kenton,  I  wish  you  would  keep  an  eye  on  me. 
I  don't  want  to  get  lost." 


THE   KENTONS  269 

Ellen  laughed — she  could  not  help  it — and  her 
laughing  made  it  less  possible  than  before  for 
Breckon  to  unbend  and  meet  Trannel  on  his  own 
ground,  to  give  him  joke  for  joke,  to  exchange  ban 
ter  with  him.  He  might  never  have  been  willing 
to  do  that,  but  now  he  shrank  from  it,  in  his  reali 
zation  of  their  likeness,  with  an  abhorrence  that 
rendered  him  rigid. 

The  judge  was  walking  ahead  with  Boyne,  and 
his  back  expressed  such  severe  disapproval  that, 
between  her  fear  that  Trannel  would  say  something 
to  bring  her  father's  condemnation  on  him  and  her 
sense  of  their  inhospitable  attitude  towards  one 
who  was  their  guest,  in  a  sort,  she  said,  with  her 
gentle  gayety,  "  Then  you  must  keep  near  me,  Mr. 
Trannel.  I'll  see  that  nothing  happens." 

"  That's  very  sweet  of  you,"  said  Trannel,  soberly. 
Whether  he  had  now  vented  his  malicious  humor 
and  was  ready  to  make  himself  agreeable,  or  was 
somewhat  quelled  by  the  unfriendly  ambient  he  had 
created,  or  was  wrought  upon  by  her  friendliness, 
he  became  everything  that  could  be  wished  in  a 
companion  for  a  day's  pleasure.  He  took  the  lead 
at  the  station,  and  got  them  a  compartment  in  the 
car  to  themselves  for  the  little  run  to  Leyden,  and 
on  the  way  he  talked  very  well.  He  politely  bor 
rowed  Boyne's  Baedeker,  and  decided  for  the  party 
what  they  had  best  see,  and  showed  an  acceptable 
intelligence,  as  well  as  a  large  experience  in  the 
claims  of  Leyden  upon  the  visitor's  interest.  He 
had  been  there  often  before,  it  seemed,  and  in  the 


270  THE  KENTONS 

event  it  appeared  that  he  had  chosen  the  day's  sight 
seeing  wisely. 

He  no  longer  addressed  himself  respectfully  to 
Ellen  alone,  but  he  re-established  himself  in  Boyne's 
confidence  with  especial  pains,  and  he  conciliated 
Breckon  by  a  recognition  of  his  priority  with  Ellen 
with  a  delicacy  refined  enough  for  even  the  sus 
ceptibility  of  a  lover  alarmed  for  his  rights.  If  he 
could  not  overcome  the  reluctance  of  the  judge, 
he  brought  him  to  the  civil  response  which  any 
one  who  tried  for  Kenton's  liking  achieved,  even 
if  he  did  not  merit  it,  and  there  remained  no  more 
reserve  in  Kenton's  manner  than  there  had  been 
with  the  young  man  from  the  first.  He  had  never 
been  a  persona  grata  to  the  judge,  and  if  he  did  not 
become  so  now,  he  at  least  ceased  to  be  actively 
displeasing. 

That  was  the  year  before  the  young  Queen  came 
to  her  own,  and  in  the  last  days  of  her  minority 
she  was  visiting  all  the  cities  of  her  future  dominion 
with  the  queen-mother.  When  Kenton's  party  left 
the  station  they  found  Leyden  as  gay  for  her  re 
ception  as  flags  and  banners  could  make  the  gray 
old  town,  and  Trannel  relapsed  for  a  moment  so  far 
as  to  suggest  that  the  decorations  were  in  honor 
of  Boyne's  presence,  but  he  did  not  abuse  the  laugh 
that  this  made  to  Boyne's  further  shame. 

There  was  no  carriage  at  the  station  which  would 
hold  the  party  of  five,  and  they  had  to  take  two 
vehicles.  Trannel  said  it  was  lucky  they  wanted 
just  two,  since  there  were  no  more,  and  he  put  him- 


THE   KENTONS  271 

self  in  authority  to  assort  the  party.  The  judge,  he 
decided,  must  go  with  Ellen  and  Breckon,  and  he 
hoped  Boyne  would  let  him  go  in  his  carriage,  if 
he  would  sit  on  the  box  with  the  driver.  The  judge 
afterwards  owned  that  he  had  weakly  indulged  his 
dislike  of  the  fellow,  in  letting  him  take  Boyne,  and 
not  insisting  on  going  himself  with  Trannel,  but 
this  was  when  it  was  long  too  late.  Ellen  had  her 
misgivings,  but,  except  for  that  gibe  about  the 
decorations,  Trannel  had  been  behaving  so  well 
that  she  hoped  she  might  trust  Boyne  with  him. 
She  made  a  kind  of  appeal  for  her  brother,  bidding 
him  and  Trannel  take  good  care  of  each  other,  and 
Trannel  promised  so  earnestly  to  look  after  Boyne 
that  she  ought  to  have  been  alarmed  for  him.  He 
took  the  lead,  rising  at  times  to  wave  a  reassuring 
hand  to  her  over  the  back  of  his  carriage,  and,  in 
fact,  nothing  evil  could  very  well  happen  from 
him,  with  the  others  following  so  close  upon  him. 
They  met  from  time  to  time  in  the  churches  they 
visited,  and  when  they  lost  sight  of  one  another, 
through  a  difference  of  opinion  in  the  drivers  as 
to  the  best  route,  they  came  together  at  the  place 
Trannel  had  appointed  for  their  next  reunion. 

He  showed  himself  a  guide  so  admirably  qualified 
that  he  found  a  way  for  them  to  objects  of  interest 
that  had  at  first  denied  themselves  in  anticipation 
of  the  visit  from  the  queens;  when  they  all  sat 
down  at  lunch  in  the  restaurant  which  he  found 
for  them,  he  could  justifiably  boast  that  he  would 
get  them  into  the  Town  Hall,  which  they  had  been 


272  THE  KENTONS 

told  was  barred  for  the  day  against  anything  but 
sovereign  curiosity.  He  was  now  on  the  best  terms 
with  Boyne,  who  seemed  to  have  lost  all  diffidence 
of  him,  and  treated  him  with  an  easy  familiarity 
that  showed  itself  in  his  slapping  him  on  the  shoul 
der  and  making  dints  in  his  hat.  Trannel  seemed 
to  enjoy  these  caresses,  and,  when  they  parted  again 
for  the  afternoon's  sight-seeing,  Ellen  had  no  longer 
a  qualm  in  letting  Boyne  drive  off  with  him. 

He  had,  in  fact,  known  how  to  make  himself  very 
acceptable  to  Boyne.  He  knew  all  the  originals  of 
his  heroical  romances,  and  was  able  to  give  the 
real  names  and  the  geographical  position  of  those 
princesses  who  had  been  in  love  with  American  ad 
venturers.  Under  promise  of  secrecy  he  disclosed 
the  real  names  of  the  adventurers  themselves,  now 
obscured  in  the  titles  given  them  to  render  them 
worthy  their  union  with  sovereigns.  He  resumed 
his  fascinating  confidences  when  they  drove  off  after 
luncheon,  and  he  resumed  them  after  each  separa 
tion  from  the  rest  of  the  party.  Boyne  listened  with 
a  flushed  face  and  starting  eyes,  and  when  at  last 
Trannel  offered,  upon  a  pledge  of  the  most  sacred 
nature  from  him  never  to  reveal  a  word  of  what 
he  said,  he  began  to  relate  an  adventure  of  which 
he  was  himself  the  hero.  It  was  a  bold  travesty 
of  one  of  the  latest  romances  that  Boyne  had 
read,  Involving  the  experience  of  an  American  very 
little  older  than  Boyne  himself,  to  whom  a  wilful 
young  crown-princess,  in  a  little  state  which  Tran 
nel  would  not  name  even  to  Boyne,  had  made 


THE  KEXTONS  273 

advances  such  as  he  could  not  refuse  to  meet 
without  cruelty.  He  was  himself  deeply  in  love 
with  her,  but  he  felt  bound  in  honor  not  to  en 
courage  her  infatuation  as  long  as  he  could  help, 
for  he  had  been  received  by  her  whole  family  with 
such  kindness  and  confidence  that  he  had  to  consider 
them. 

"  Oh,  pshaw !"  Boyne  broke  in  upon  him,  doubting, 
and  yet  wishing  not  to  doubt,  "  that's  the  same  as 
the  story  of  Hector  Folleyne." 

"  Yes/'  said  Trannel,  quietly.  "  I  thought  you 
would  recognize  it." 

"  Well,  but/'  Boyne  went  on,  "  Hector  married 
the  princess." 

"  In  the  liook,  yes.  The  fellow  I  gave  the  story 
to  said  it  would  never  do  not  to  have  him  marry 
her,  and  it  would  help  to  disguise  the  fact.  That's 
what  he  said,  after  he  had  given  the  whole  thing 
away/' 

"And  do  you  mean  to  say  it  was  you?  Oh, 
you  can't  stuff  me!  How  did  you  get  out  of 
marrying  her,  I  should  like  to  know,  when  the 
chancellor  came  to  you  and  said  that  the  whole 
family  wanted  you  to,  for  fear  it  would  kill  her 
if—" 

"  Well,  there  was  a  scene,  I  can't  deny  that.  We 
had  a  regular  family  conclave — father,  mother, 
Aunt  Hitty,  and  all  the  folks — and  we  kept  it  up 
pretty  much  all  night.  The  princess  wasn't  there, 
of  course,  and  1  could  convince  them  that  I  was 
right.  If  she  had  been,  I  don't  believe  I  could  have 

18 


THE   KENTONS 

held  out.  But  they  had  to  listen  to  reason,  and  I  got 
away  between  two  days." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  marry  her  ?" 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  as  I  told  you,  I  thought 
I  ought  to  consider  her  family.  Then  there  was  a 
good  fellow,  the  crown-prince  of  Saxe-Wolfenhiit- 
ten,  who  was  dead  in  love  with  her,  and  was  en 
gaged  to  her  before  I  turned  up.  I  had  been  at 
school  with  him,  and  I  felt  awfully  sorry  for  him; 
and  I  thought  I  ought  to  sacrifice  myself  a  little 
to  him.  But  I  suppose  the  thing  that  influenced 
me  most  was  finding  out  that  if  I  married  the 
princess  I  should  have  to  give  up  my  American 
citizenship  and  become  her  subject." 

"Well?"  Boyne  panted. 

"Well,  would  you  have  done  it?" 

"  Couldn't  you  have  got  along  without  doing 
that?" 

"  That  was  the  only  thing  I  couldn't  get  around, 
somehow.  So  I  left." 

"And  the  princess,  did  she — die?" 

"It  takes  a  good  deal  more  than  that  to  kill  a 
fifteen-year-old  princess,"  said  Trannel,  and  he  gave 
a  harsh  laugh.  **  She  married  Saxe-Wolfenhiit- 
ten."  Boyne  was  silent.  "  Now,  I  don't  want 
you  to  speak  of  this  till  after  I  leave  Scheveningen 
— especially  to  Miss  Lottie.  You  know  how  girls 
are,  and  J  think  Miss  Lottie  is  waiting  to  get  a 
bind  on  me,  anyway.  If  she  heard  how  I  was  cut 
out  of  my  chance  with  that  princess  she'd  never  let 
me  believe  I  gave  her  up  of  my  own  free  will!" 


THE  KENTONS  275 

"No,  no;  I  won't  tell  her." 

Boyne  remained  in  a  silent  rapture,  and  he  did 
not  notice  they  were  no  longer  following  the  rest 
of  their  party  in  the  other  carriage.  This  had 
turned  down  a  corner,  at  which  Mr.  Breckon,  sitting 
on  the  front  seat,  had  risen  and  beckoned  their 
driver  to  follow,  but  their  driver,  who  appeared  after 
wards  to  have  had  too  much  a  head  of  his  own, 
or  no  head  at  all,  had  continued  straight  on,  in  the 
rear  of  a  tram-car,  which  was  slowly  finding  its  way 
through  the  momently  thickening  crowd.  Boyne 
was  first  aware  that  it  was  a  humorous  crowd  when, 
at  a  turn  of  the  street,  their  equipage  was  greeted 
with  ironical  cheers  by  a  group  of  gay  young  Dutch 
men  on  the  sidewalk.  Then  he  saw  that  the  side 
walks  were  packed  with  people,  who  spread  into  the 
street  almost  to  the  tram,  and  that  the  house  fronts 
were  dotted  with  smiling  Dutch  faces,  the  faces  of 
pretty  Dutch  girls,  who  seemed  to  share  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  young  fellows  below. 

Trannel  lay  back  in  the  carriage.  "  This  is  some 
thing  like,"  he  said.  "Boyne,  they're  on  to  the 
distinguished  young  Ohioan — the  only  Ohioan  out 
of  office  in  Europe." 

"  Yes,"  said  Boyne,  trying  to  enjoy  it.  "  I  wonder 
what  they  are  holloing  at." 

Trannel  laughed.  "They're  holloing  at  your 
Baedeker,  my  dear  boy.  They  never  saw  one  be 
fore,"  and  Boyne  was  aware  that  he  was  holding 
his  red-backed  guide  conspicuously  in  view  on  his 
lap.  "  They  know  you're  a  foreigner  by  it." 


276  THE   KENTONS 

"Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  turn  down  some 
where?  I  don't  see  poppa  anywhere."  He  rose  and 
looked  anxiously  back  over  the  top  of  their  carriage. 
The  crowd,  closing  in  behind  it,  hailed  his  troubled 
face  with  cries  that  were  taken  up  by  the  throng  on 
the  sidewalks.  Boyne  turned  about  to  find  that  the 
tram-car  which  they  had  been  following  had  disap 
peared  round  a  corner,  but  their  driver  was  still  keep 
ing  on.  At  a  wilder  burst  of  applause  Trannel  took 
off  his  hat  and  bowed  to  the  crowd,  right  and  left. 

"  Bow,  bow  1"  he  said  to  Boyne.  "  They'll  be  call 
ing  for  a  speech  the  next  thing.  Bow,  I  tell  you !" 

"  Tell  him  to  turn  round !"  cried  the  boy. 

"  I  can't  speak  Dutch,"  said  Trannel,  and  Boyne 
leaned  forward  and  poked  the  driver  in  the  back. 

"  Go  back !"  he  commanded. 

The  driver  shook  his  head  and  pointed  forward 
with  his  whip.  "  He's  all  right,"  said  Trannel.  "  He 
can't  turn  now.  We've  got  to  take  the  next  cor 
ner."  The  street  in  front  was  empty,  and  the  people 
were  crowding  back  on  the  sidewalks.  Loud,  vague 
noises  made  themselves  heard  round  the  corner  to 
which  the  driver  had  pointed.  "  By  Jove!"  Trannel 
said,  "  I  believe  they're  coming  round  that  way." 

"  Who  are  coming  ?"  Boyne  palpitated. 

"  The  queens." 

"  The  queens  ?"  Boyne  gasped ;  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  shrieked  the  words. 

"  Yes.  And  there's  a  tobacconist's  now''  said 
Trannel,  as  if  that  were  what  he  had  been  looking 
for  all  along.  "  I  want  some  cigarettes." 


THE  KENTONS  277 

He  leaped  lightly  from  the  carriage,  and  pushed 
his  way  out  of  sight  on  the  sidewalk.  Boyne  re 
mained  alone  in  the  vehicle,  staring  wildly  round; 
the  driver  kept  slowly  and  stupidly  on,  Boyne  did 
not  know  how  much  farther.  He  could  not  speak; 
he  felt  as  if  he  could  not  stir.  But  the  moment 
came  when  he  could  not  be  still.  He  gave  a  gal 
vanic  jump  to  the  ground,  and  the  friendly  crowd 
on  the  sidewalk  welcomed  him  to  its  ranks  and 
closed  about  him.  The  driver  had  taken  the  left- 
hand  corner,  just  before  a  plain  carriage  with  the 
Queen  and  the  queen-mother  came  in  sight  round 
the  right.  The  young  Queen  was  bowing  to  the 
people,  gently,  and  with  a  sort  of  mechanical  regu 
larity.  Now  and  then  a  brighter  smile  than  that 
she  conventionally  wore  lighted  up  her  face.  The 
simple  progress  was  absolutely  without  state,  except 
for  the  aide-de-camp  on  horseback  who  rode  beside 
the  carriage,  a  little  to  the  front. 

Boyne  stood  motionless  on  the  curb,  where  a 
friendly  tall  Dutchman  had  placed  him  in  front 
that  he  might  see  the  Queen. 

"  Hello !"  said  the  voice  of  Trannel,  and  elbowing 
his  way  to  Boyne's  side,  he  laughed  and  coughed 
through  the  smoke  of  his  cigarette.  "  I  was  afraid 
you  had  lost  me.  Where's  your  carriage?" 

Boyne  did  not  notice  his  mockeries.  He  was 
entranced  in  that  beatific  vision ;  his  boy-heart  went 
out  in  worship  to  the  pretty  young  creature  with  a 
reverence  that  could  not  be  uttered.  The  tears 
came  into  his  eyes. 


278  THE   KENTONS 

"  There,  there !  She's  bowing  to  you,  Boyne. 
She's  smiling  right  at  you.  By  Jove!  She's  beck 
oning  to  you !" 

"  You  be  still !"  Boyne  retorted,  finding  his  tongue. 
"  She  isn't  doing  any  such  a  thing." 

"  She  is,  I  swear  she  is !  She's  doing  it  again ! 
She's  stopping  the  carriage.  Oh,  go  out  and  see 
what  she  wants!  Don't  you  know  that  a  queen's 
wish  is  a  command?  You've  got  to  go!" 

Boyne  never  could  tell  just  how  it  happened.  The 
carriage  did  seem  to  be  stopping,  and  the  Queen 
seemed  to  be  looking  at  him.  He  thought  he  must, 
and  he  started  into  the  street  towards  her,  and  the 
carriage  came  abreast  of  him.  He  had  almost  reach 
ed  the  carriage  when  the  aide  turned  and  spurred 
his  horse  before  him.  Four  strong  hands  that  were 
like  iron  clamps  were  laid  one  on  each  of  Boyne's 
elbows  and  shoulders,  and  he  was  haled  away,  as 
if  by  superhuman  force.  "  Mr.  Trannel !"  he  called 
out  in  his  agony,  but  the  wretch  had  disappeared, 
and  Boyne  was  left  with  his  captors,  to  whom  he 
could  have  said  nothing  if  he  could  have  thought 
of  anything  to  say. 

The  detectives  pulled  him  through  the  crowd  and 
hurried  him  swiftly  down  the  side  street.  A  little 
curiosity  straggled  after  him  in  the  shape  of  small 
Dutch  boys,  too  short  to  look  over  the  shoulders  of 
men  at  the  queens,  and  too  weak  to  make  their 
way  through  them  to  the  front ;  but  for  them,  Boyne 
seemed  alone  in  the  world  with  the  relentless  offi 
cers,  who  were  dragging  him  forward  and  hurting 


THE   KENTONS  279 

him  so  with  the  grip  of  their  iron  hands.  He  lifted 
up  his  face  to  entreat  them  not  to  hold  him  so  tight, 
and  suddenly  it  was  as  if  he  beheld  an  angel  stand 
ing  in  his  path.  It  was  Breckon  who  was  there, 
staring  at  him  aghast. 

"Why,  Boyne!"  he  cried. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Breckon !"  Boyne  wailed  back.  "  Is  it 
you?  Oh,  do  tell  them  I  didn't  mean  to  do  any 
thing  !  I  thought  she  beckoned  to  me." 

"  Who  ?    Who  beckoned  to  you  ?" 

"  The  Queen  I"  Boyne  sobbed,  while  the  detectives 
pulled  him  relentlessly  on. 

Breckon  addressed  them  suavely  in  their  own 
tongue,  which  had  never  come  in  more  deferential 
politeness  from  human  lips.  He  ventured  the  be 
lief  that  there  was  a  mistake;  he  assured  them  that 
he  knew  their  prisoner,  and  that  he  was  the  son  of 
a  most  respectable  American  family,  whom  they 
could  find  at  the  Kurhaus  in  Scheveningen.  He 
added  some  irrelevancies,  and  got  for  all  answer 
that  they  had  made  Boyne's  arrest  for  sufficient  rea 
sons,  and  were  taking  him  to  prison.  If  his  friends 
wished  to  intervene  in  his  behalf  they  could  do  so 
before  the  magistrate,  but  for  the  present  they  must 
admonish  Mr.  Breckon  not  to  put  himself  in  the 
way  of  the  law. 

"Don't  go,  Mr.  Breckon!"  Boyne  implored  him, 
as  his  captors  made  him  quicken  his  pace  after 
slowing  a  little  for  their  colloquy  with  Breckon. 
"  Oh,  where  is  poppa  ?  He  could  get  me  away.  Oh, 
where  is  poppa?" 


280  THE   KENTONS 

"Don't!  Don't  call  out,  Boyne,"  Breckon  en 
treated.  "Your  father  is  right  here  at  the  end  of 
the  street.  He's  in  the  carriage  there  with  Miss 
Kenton.  I  was  coming  to  look  for  you.  Don't  cry 
out  so!" 

"  No,  no,  I  won't,  Mr.  Breckon.  I'll  be  perfectly 
quiet  now.  Only  do  get  poppa  quick!  He  can  tell 
them  in  a  minute  that  it's  all  right!" 

He  made  a  prodigious  effort  to  control  himself, 
while  Breckon  ran  a  little  ahead,  with  some  wild 
notion  of  preparing  Ellen.  As  he  disappeared  at 
the  corner,  Boyne  choked  a  sob  into  a  muffled  bellow, 
and  was  able  to  meet  the  astonished  eyes  of  his 
father  and  sister  in  this  degree  of  triumph. 

They  had  not  in  the  least  understood  Breckon's 
explanation,  and,  in  fact,  it  had  not  been  very 
lucid.  At  sight  of  her  brother  strenuously  upheld 
between  the  detectives,  and  dragged  along  the  side 
walk,  Ellen  sprang  from  the  carriage  and  ran  tow 
ards  him.  "Why,  what's  the  matter  with  Boyne?" 
she  demanded.  "  Are  you  hurt,  Boyne,  dear  ?  Are 
they  taking  him  to  the  hospital?" 

Before  he  could  answer,  and  quite  before  the 
judge  could  reach  the  tragical  group,  she  had  flung 
her  arms  round  Boyne's  neck,  and  was  kissing  his 
tear-drabbled  face,  while  he  lamented  back,  "  They're 
taking  me  to  prison." 

"  Taking  you  to  prison?  I  should  like  to  know 
what  for!  What  are  you  taking  my  brother  to 
prison  for?"  she  challenged  the  detectives,  who 
paused,  bewildered,  while  all  the  little  Dutch  boys 


THE   KENTONS  281 

round  admired  this  obstruction  of  the  law,  and  sev 
eral  Dutch  housewives,  too  old  to  go  out  to  see  the 
queens,  looked  down  from  their  windows.  It  was 
wholly  illegal,  but  the  detectives  were  human.  They 
could  snub  such  a  friend  of  their  prisoner  as  Breck- 
on,  but  they  could  not  meet  the  dovelike  ferocity 
of  Ellen  with  unkindness.  They  explained  as  well 
as  they  might,  and  at  a  suggestion  which  Kenton 
made  through  Breckon,  they  admitted  that  it  was 
not  beside  their  duty  to  take  Boyne  directly  to  a 
magistrate,  who  could  pass  upon  his  case,  and  even 
release  him  upon  proper  evidence  of  his  harmless- 
ness,  and  sufficient  security  for  any  demand  that 
justice  might  make  for  his  future  appearance. 

"  Then,"  said  the  judge,  quietly,  "  tell  them  that 
we  will  go  with  them.  It  will  be  all  right,  Boyne. 
Ellen,  you  and  I  will  get  back  into  the  carriage, 
and—" 

"No!"  Boyne  roared.    "Don't  leave  me,  Nelly!" 

"  Indeed,  I  won't  leave  you,  Boyne !  Mr.  Breckon, 
you  get  into  the  carriage  with  poppa,  and  I — " 

"  I  think  I  had  better  go  with  you,  Miss  Kenton," 
said  Breckon,  and  in  a  tender  superfluity  they  both 
accompanied  Boyne  on  foot,  while  the  judge  re 
mounted  to  his  place  in  the  carriage  and  kept 
abreast  of  them  on  their  way  to  the  magistrate's. 


XXIV 

THE  magistrate  conceived  of  Boyne's  case  with  a 
readiness  that  gave  the  judge  a  high  opinion  of  his 
personal  and  national  intelligence.  He  even  smiled 
a  little,  in  accepting  the  explanation  which  Breckon 
was  able  to  make  him  from  Boyne,  but  he  thought 
it  his  duty  to  give  the  boy  a  fatherly  warning  for 
the  future.  He  remarked  to  Breckon  that  it  was 
well  for  Boyne  that  the  affair  had  not  happened  in 
Germany,  where  it  would  have  been  found  a  much 
more  serious  matter,  though,  indeed,  he  added,  it 
had  to  be  seriously  regarded  anywhere  in  these  times, 
when  the  lives  of  sovereigns  were  so  much  at  the 
mercy  of  all  sorts  of  madmen  and  miscreants.  He 
relaxed  a  little  from  his  severity  in  his  admonition 
to  say  directly  to  Boyne  that  queens,  even  when 
they  wished  to  speak  with  people,  did  not  beckon 
to  them  in  the  public  streets.  When  this  speech 
was  translated  to  Boyne  by  Breckon,  whom  the  mag 
istrate  complimented  on  the  perfection  of  his  Dutch, 
Boyne  hung  his  head  sheepishly,  and  could  not  be 
restored  to  his  characteristic  dignity  again  in  the 
magistrate's  presence.  The  judge  gratefully  shook 
hands  with  the  friendly  justice,  and  made  him  a 
little  speech  of  thanks,  which  Breckon  interpreted, 
and  then  the  justice  shook  hands  with  the  judge,  and 


THE   KENTONS  283 

gracefully  accepted  the  introduction  which  he  of 
fered  him  to  Ellen.  They  parted  with  reciprocal 
praises  and  obeisances,  which  included  even  the 
detectives.  The  judge  had  some  question,  which  he 
submitted  to  Breckon,  whether  he  ought  not  to  offer 
them  something,  but  Breckon  thought  not. 

Breckon  found  it  hard  to  abdicate  the  sort  of  au 
thority  in  which  his  knowledge  of  Dutch  had  placed 
him,  and  when  he  protested  that  he  had  done  nothing 
but  act  as  interpreter,  Ellen  said,  "Yes,  but  we 
couldn't  have  done  anything  without  you,"  and  this 
was  the  view  that  Mrs.  Kenton  took  of  the  matter 
in  the  family  conclave  which  took  place  later  in  the 
evening.  Breckon  was  not  allowed  to  withdraw 
from  it,  in  spite  of  many  modest  efforts,  before  she 
had  bashfully  expressed  her  sense  of  his  service  to 
him,  and  made  Boyne  share  her  thanksgiving.  She 
had  her  arm  about  the  boy's  shoulder  in  giving  Breck 
on  her  hand,  and  when  Breckon  had  got  away  she 
pulled  Boyne  to  her  in  a  more  peremptory  embrace. 

"Now,  Boyne,"  she  said,  "I  am  not  going  to 
have  any  more  nonsense.  I  want  to  know  why  you 
did  it." 

The  judge  and  Ellen  had  already  conjectured 
clearly  enough,  and  Boyne  did  not  fear  them.  But 
he  looked  at  his  younger  sister  as  he  sulkily  an 
swered,  "  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  before  Lottie." 

"  Come  in  here,  then,"  said  his  mother,  and  she 
led  him  into  the  next  room  and  closed  the  door. 
She  quickly  returned  without  him.  "Yes,"  she 
began,  "  it's  just  as  I  supposed ;  it  was  that  worth- 


284  THE   KENTONS 

less  fellow  who  put  him  up  to  it.  Of  course,  it  hegan 
with  those  fool  books  he's  been  reading,  and  the 
notions  that  Miss  Rasmith  put  into  his  head.  But 
he  never  would  have  done  anything  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Mr.  Trannel." 

Lottie  had  listened  in  silent  scorn  to  the  whole 
proceedings  up  to  this  point,  and  had  refused  a 
part  in  the  general  recognition  of  Breckon  as  a 
special  providence.  Now  she  flashed  out  with  a 
terrible  volubility:  "What  did  I  tell  you?  What 
else  could  you  expect  of  a  Cook's  tourist?  And 
mom — mother  wanted  to  make  me  go  with  you, 
after  I  told  her  what  he  was!  Well,  if  I  had  have 
gone,  I'll  bet  I  could  have  kept  him  from  playing 
his  tricks.  I'll  bet  he  wouldn't  have  taken  any 
liberties,  with  me  along.  I'll  bet  if  he  had,  it 
wouldn't  have  been  Boyne  that  got  arrested.  I'll  bet 
he  wouldn't  have  got  off  so  easily  with  the  magis 
trate,  either !  But  I  suppose  you'll  all  let  him  come 
bowing  and  smiling  round  in  the  morning,  like  but 
ter  wouldn't  melt  in  your  mouths.  That  seems  to  be 
the  Kenton  way.  Anybody  can  pull  our  noses,  or 
get  us  arrested  that  wants  to,  and  we  never  squeak." 
She  went  on  a  long  time  to  this  purpose,  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton  listening  with  an  air  almost  of  conviction,  and 
Ellen  patiently  bearing  it  as  a  right  that  Lottie  had 
in  a  matter  where  she  had  been  otherwise  ignored. 

The  judge  broke  out,  not  upon  Lottie,  but  upon 
his  wife.  "  Good  heavens,  Sarah,  can't  you  make 
the  child  hush?" 

Lottie  answered  for  her  mother,  with  a  crash  of 


THE   KENTONS  285 

nerves  and  a  gush  of  furious  tears :  "  Oh,  I've  got 
to  hush,  I  suppose.  It's  always  the  way  when  I'm 
trying  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  family.  I 
suppose  it  will  be  cabled  to  America,  and  by  to 
morrow  it  will  be  all  over  Tuskingum  how  Boyne 
was  made  a  fool  of  and  got  arrested.  But  I  bet 
there's  one  person  in  Tuskingum  that  won't  have 
any  remarks  to  make,  and  that's  Bittridge.  Not 
as  long  as  Dick's  there  he  won't." 

"Lottie!"  cried  her  mother,  and  her  father  start 
ed  towards  her,  while  Ellen  still  sat  patiently 
quiet. 

"  Oh,  well!"  Lottie  submitted.  "  But  if  Dick  was 
here  I  know  this  Trannel  wouldn't  get  off  so  smooth 
ly.  Dick  would  give  him  a  worse  cowhiding  than 
he  did  Bittridge." 

Half  the  last  word  was  lost  in  the  bang  of  the 
door  which  Lottie  slammed  behind  her,  leaving  her 
father  and  mother  to  a  silence  which  Ellen  did  not 
offer  to  break.  The  judge  had  no  heart  to  speak, 
in  his  dismay,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Kenton  who  took 
the  word. 

"Ellen,"  she  began,  with  compassionate  gentle 
ness,  "we  tried  to  keep  it  from  you.  We  knew 
how  you  would  feel.  But  now  we  have  got  to  tell 
you.  Dick  did  cowhide  him  when  he  got  back  to 
Tuskingum.  Lottie  wrote  out  to  Dick  about  it,  how 
Mr.  Bittridge  had  behaved  in  New  York.  Your 
father  and  I  didn't  approve  of  it,  and  Dick  didn't 
afterwards;  but,  yes,  he  did  do  it." 

"  I  knew  it,  momma,"  said  Ellen,  sadly. 


286  THE   KENTONS 

"You  knew  it!    How?" 

"  That  other  letter  I  got  when  we  first  came — it 
was  from  his  mother." 

"Did  she  tell—" 

"  Yes.  It  was  terrible — she  seemed  to  feel  so.  And 
I  was  sorry  for  her.  I  thought  I  ought  to  answer 
it,  and  I  did.  I  told  her  I  was  sorry,  too.  I  tried 
not  to  blame  Richard.  I  don't  believe  I  did.  And 
I  tried  not  to  blame  him.  She  was  feeling  badly 
enough  without  that." 

Her  father  and  mother  looked  at  each  other;  they 
did  not  speak,  and  she  asked,  "Do  you  think  I 
oughtn't  to  have  written  ?" 

Her  father  answered,  a  little  tremulously :  "  You 
did  right,  Ellen.  And  I  am  sure  that  you  did  it 
in  just  the  right  way." 

"I  tried  to.  I  thought  I  wouldn't  worry  you 
about  it." 

She  rose,  and  now  her  mother  thought  she  was 
going  to  say  that  it  put  an  end  to  everything; 
that  she  must  go  back  and  offer  herself  as  a  sacrifice 
to  the  injured  Bittridges.  Her  mind  had  reverted 
to  that  moment  on  the  steamer  when  Ellen  told  her 
that  nothing  had  reconciled  her  to  what  had  hap 
pened  with  Bittridge  but  the  fact  that  all  the  wrong 
done  had  been  done  to  themselves;  that  this  freed 
her.  In  her  despair  she  could  not  forbear  asking, 
"What  did  you  write  to  her,  Ellen?" 

"Nothing.  I  just  said  that  I  was  very  sorry, 
and  that  I  knew  how  she  felt.  I  don't  remember 
the  words  exactly." 


THE   KENTONS  287 

She  went  up  and  kissed  her  mother.  She  seemed 
rather  fatigued  than  distressed,  and  her  father  asked 
her,  "  Are  you  going  to  bed,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  pretty  tired,  and  I  should  think  you 
would  be,  too,  poppa.  I'll  speak  to  poor  Boyne. 
Don't  mind  Lottie.  I  suppose  she  couldn't  help 
saying  it."  She  kissed  her  father,  and  slipped  quiet 
ly  into  Boyne's  room,  from  which  they  could  hear 
her  passing  on  to  her  own  before  they  ventured 
to  say  anything  to  each  other  in  the  hopeful  bewil 
derment  to  which  she  had  left  them. 

"Well?"  said  the  judge. 

"  Well  ?"  Mrs.  Kenton  returned,  in  a  note  of 
exasperation,  as  if  she  were  not  going  to  let  herself 
be  forced  to  the  initiative. 

"I  thought  you  thought—" 

"I  did  think  that.  Now  I  don't  know  what  to 
think.  We  have  got  to  wait." 

"  I'm  willing  to  wait  for  Ellen." 

"  She  seems,"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  "  to  have  more 
sense  than  both  the  other  children  put  together,  and 
I  was  afraid — " 

"  She  might  easily  have  more  sense  than  Boyne, 
or  Lottie,  either." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  Mrs.  Kenton  began.  But 
she  did  not  go  on  to  resent  the  disparagement  which 
she  had  invited.  "What  I  was  afraid  of  was  her 
goodness.  It  was  her  goodness  that  got  her  into 
the  trouble,  to  begin  with.  If  she  hadn't  been  so 
good,  that  fellow  could  never  have  fooled  her  as 
he  did.  She  was  too  innocent." 


288  THE   KENTONS 

The  judge  could  not  forbear  the  humorous  view. 
"  Perhaps  she's  getting  wickeder,  or  not  so  innocent. 
At  any  rate,  she  doesn't  seem  to  have  been  taken 
in  by  Trannel." 

"  He  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  her.  He  was 
all  taken  up  with  Lottie." 

"  Well,  that  was  lucky.  Sarah,"  said  the  judge, 
"  do  you  think  he  is  like  Bittridge  ?" 

"  He's  made  me  think  of  him  all  the  time." 

"  It's  curious,"  the  judge  mused.  "  I  have  always 
noticed  how  our  faults  repeat  themselves,  but  I 
didn't  suppose  our  fates  would  always  take  the 
same  shape,  or  something  like  it."  Mrs.  Kenton 
stared  at  him.  "  When  this  other  one  first  made  up 
to  us  on  the  boat  my  heart  went  down.  I  thought 
of  Bittridge  so." 

"Mr.  Breckon?" 

"  Yes,  the  same  lightness ;  the  same  sort  of  tri 
fling —  Didn't  you  notice  it?" 

"  No — yes,  I  noticed  it.  But  I  wasn't  afraid  for 
an  instant.  I  saw  that  he  was  good." 

"Oh!" 

"What  I'm  afraid  of  now  is  that  Ellen  doesn't 
care  anything  about  him." 

"He  isn't  wicked  enough?" 

"I  don't  say  that.  But  it  would  be  too  much 
happiness  to  expect  in  one  short  life." 

The  judge  could  not  deny  the  reasonableness  of 
her  position.  He  could  only  oppose  it:  "Well,  I 
don't  think  we've  had  any  more  than  our  share  of 
happiness  lately." 


XXV 

No  one  except  Boyne  could  have  made  Trannel's 
behavior  a  cause  of  quarrel,  but  the  other  Kentons 
made  it  a  cause  of  coldness  which  was  quite  as  ef 
fective.  In  Lottie  this  took  the  form  of  something 
so  active,  so  positive,  that  it  was  something  more 
than  a  mere  absence  of  warmth.  Before  she  came 
down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning  she  studied 
a  stare  in  her  mirror,  and  practised  it  upon  Trannel 
so  successfully  when  he  came  up  to  speak  to  her 
that  it  must  have  made  him  doubt  whether  he  had 
ever  had  her  acquaintance.  In  his  doubt  he  vent 
ured  to  address  her,  and  then  Lottie  turned  her 
back  upon  him  in  a  manner  that  was  perfectly  con 
vincing.  He  attempted  a  smiling  ease  with  Mrs. 
Kenton  and  the  judge,  but  they  shared  neither 
his  smile  nor  his  ease,  and  his  jocose  questions 
about  the  end  of  yesterday's  adventures,  which  he 
had  not  been  privy  to,  did  not  seem  to  appeal  to  the 
American  sense  of  humor  in  them.  Ellen  was  not 
with  them,  nor  Boyne,  but  Trannel  was  not  asked  to 
take  either  of  the  vacant  places  at  the  table,  even 
when  Breckon  took  one  of  them,  after  a  decent  ex 
change  of  civilities  with  him.  He  could  only  saun 
ter  away  and  leave  Mrs.  Kenton  to  a  little  pang. 

19 


290  THE   KENTONS 

«  Tchkl"  she  made.    "  I'm  sorry  for  him." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  the  judge.  "  But  he  will  get 
over  it — only  too  soon,  I'm  afraid.  I  don't  believe 
he's  very  sorry  for  himself." 

They  had  not  advised  with  Breckon,  and  he  did 
not  feel  authorized  to  make  any  comment.  He  seem 
ed  preoccupied,  to  Mrs.  Kenton's  eye,  when  she  turn 
ed  it  upon  him  from  Trannel's  discomfited  back, 
lessening  in  the  perspective,  and  he  answered  vague 
ly  to  her  overture  about  his  night's  rest.  Lottie 
never  made  any  conversation  with  Breckon,  and  she 
now  left  him  to  himself,  with  some  remnants  of  the 
disapproval  which  she  found  on  her  hands  after 
crushing  Trannel.  It  could  not  be  said  that  Breckon 
was  aware  of  her  disapproval,  and  the  judge  had  no 
apparent  consciousness  of  it.  He  and  Breckon  tried 
to  make  something  of  each  other,  but  failed,  and 
it  all  seemed  a  very  defeating  sequel  to  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton  after  the  triumphal  glow  of  the  evening  before. 
When  Lottie  rose,  she  went  with  her,  alleging  her 
wish  to  see  if  Boyne  had  eaten  his  breakfast.  She 
confessed,  to  Breckon's  kind  inquiry,  that  Boyne  did 
not  seem  very  well,  and  that  she  had  made  him  take 
his  breakfast  in  his  room,  and  she  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  own,  even  to  so  friendly  a  witness 
as  Mr.  Breckon,  that  Boyne  was  ashamed  to  come 
down,  and  dreaded  meeting  Trannel  so  much  that 
she  was  giving  him  time  to  recover  his  self-respect 
and  courage. 

As  soon  as  she  and  Lottie  were  gone  Breckon 
began,  rather  more  formidably  than  he  liked,  but 


THE  KENTONS  291 

helplessly  so:  "Judge  Kenton,  I  should  be  glad  of 
a  few  moments  with  you  on — on  an  important — on 
a  matter  that  is  important  to  me." 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  cautiously.  Whatever 
was  coming,  he  wished  to  guard  himself  from  the 
mistake  that  he  had  once  so  nearly  fallen  into,  and 
that  still  made  him  catch  his  breath  to  think  of. 
"  How  can  I  be  of  use  to  you  2" 

"I  don't  know  that  you  can  be  of  any  use — I 
don't  know  that  I  ought  to  speak  to  you.  But  I 
thought  you  might  perhaps  save  me  from — save  my 
taking  a  false  step." 

He  looked  at  Kenton  as  if  he  would  understand, 
and  Kenton  supposed  that  he  did.  He  said,  "My 
daughter  once  mentioned  your  wish  to  talk  with 
me." 

"Your  daughter?"  Breckon  stared  at  him  in 
stupefaction. 

"  Yes ;  Ellen.  She  said  you  wished  to  consult  me 
about  going  back  to  your  charge  in  New  York,  when 
we  were  on  the  ship  together.  But  I  don't  know 
that  I'm  very  competent  to  give  advice  in  such — " 

"Oh!"  Breckon  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  immense 
relief,  which  did  not  continue  itself  in  what  he  went 
on  to  say.  "That!  I've  quite  made  up  my  mind 
to  go  back."  He  stopped,  and  then  be  burst  out, 
"  I  want  to  speak  with  you  about  her/'  The  judge 
sat  steady,  still  resolute  not  to  give  himself  away, 
and  the  young  man  scarcely  recovered  from  what 
had  been  a  desperate  plunge  in  adding:  "I  know 
that  it's  usual  to  speak  with  her  —  with  the  lady 


292  THE   KENTONS 

herself  first,  but — I  don't  know !  The  circumstances 
are  peculiar.  You  only  know  about  me  what  you've 
seen  of  me,  and  I  would  rather  make  my  mistakes 
in  the  order  that  seems  right  to  me,  although  it 
isn't  just  the  American  way." 

He  smiled  rather  piteously,  and  the  judge  said, 
rather  encouragingly,  "  I  don't  quite  know  whether 
I  follow  you." 

Breckon  blushed,  and  sought  help  in  what  remain 
ed  of  his  coffee.  "  The  way  isn't  easy  for  me.  But 
it's  this:  I  ask  your  leave  to  ask  Miss  Ellen  to 
marry  me."  The  worst  was  over  now,  and  Breckon 
looked  as  if  it  were  a  relief.  "  She  is  the  most 
beautiful  person  in  the  world  to  me,  and  the  best; 
but  as  you  know  so  little  of  me,  I  thought  it  right 
to  get  your  leave — to  tell  you — to — to —  That  is 
all."  He  fell  back  in  his  chair  and  looked  at 
Kenton. 

"  It  is  unusual,"  the  judge  began. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know  that.  And  for  that  reason  I 
speak  first  to  you.  I'll  be  ruled  by  you  implicitly." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  Kenton  said.  "  I  would  have 
expected  that  you  would  speak  to  her  first.  But  I 
get  your  point  of  view,  and  I  must  say  I  think  you're 
right.  I  think  you  are  behaving  —  honorably.  I 
wish  that  every  one  was  like  you.  But  I  can't  say 
anything  now.  I  must  talk  with  her  mother.  My 
daughter's  life  has  not  been  happy —  I  can't  tell 
you.  But  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  and  I  think  Mrs. 
Kenton,  too,  I  would  be  glad —  We  like  you,  Mr. 
Breckon.  We  think  you  are  a  good  man." 


THE  KENTONS  293 

"  Oh,  thank  you.    I'm  not  so  sure — " 

"  We'd  risk  it.  But  that  isn't  all.  Will  you  ex 
cuse  me  if  I  don't  say  anything  more  just  yet — and 
if  I  leave  you?" 

"Why,  certainly."  The  judge  had  risen  and 
pushed  back  his  chair,  and  Breckon  did  the  same. 
"And  I  shall— hear  from  you?" 

"  Why,  certainly,"  said  the  judge  in  his  turn. 

"  It  isn't  possible  that  you  put  him  off  1"  his  wife 
reproached  him,  when  he  told  what  had  passed  be 
tween  him  and  Breckon.  "  Oh,  you  couldn't  have 
let  him  think  that  we  didn't  want  him  for  her! 
Surely  you  didn't !" 

"  Will  you  get  it  into  your  head,"  he  flamed  back, 
"  that  he  hasn't  spoken  to  Ellen  yet,  and  I  couldn't 
accept  him  till  she  had?" 

"  Oh  yes.  I  forgot  that."  Mrs.  Kenton  struggled 
with  the  fact,  in  the  difficulty  of  realizing  so  strange 
an  order  of  procedure.  "I  suppose  it's  his  being 
educated  abroad  that  way.  But,  do  go  back  to  him, 
Rufus,  and  tell  him  that  of  course — " 

"  I  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  Sarah !  What  are 
you  thinking  of?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  thinking  of !  I 
must  see  Ellen,  I  suppose.  I'll  go  to  her  now.  Oh, 
dear,  if  she  doesn't — if  she  lets  such  a  chance  slip 
through  her  fingers —  But  she's  quite  likely  to, 
she's  so  obstinate!  I  wonder  what  she'll  want  us 
to  do." 

She  fled  to  her  daughter's  room  and  found  Boyne 
there,  sitting  beside  his  sister's  bed,  giving  her  a 


294  THE   KENTONS 

detailed  account  of  his  adventure  of  the  day  before, 
up  to  the  moment  Mr.  Breckon  met  him,  in  charge 
of  the  detectives.  Up  to  that  moment,  it  appeared 
to  Boyne,  as  nearly  as  he  could  recollect,  that  he 
had  not  broken  down,  but  had  behaved  himself  with 
a  dignity  which  was  now  beginning  to  clothe  his 
whole  experience.  In  the  retrospect,  a  quiet  hero 
ism  characterized  his  conduct,  and  at  the  moment 
his  mother  entered  the  room  he  was  questioning 
Ellen  as  to  her  impressions  of  his  bearing  when  she 
first  saw  him  in  the  grasp  of  the  detectives. 

His  mother  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  said,  "  I 
want  to  speak  with  Ellen,  Boyne,"  and  put  him  out 
of  the  door. 

Then  she  came  back  and  sat  down  in  his  chair. 
"  Ellen,  Mr.  Breckon  has  been  speaking  to  your 
father.  Do  you  know  what  about?" 

"  About  his  going  back  to  New  York  ?"  the  girl 
suggested. 

Her  mother  kept  her  patience  with  difficulty. 
"No,  not  about  that.  About  you!  He's  asked  your 
father — I  can't  understand  yet  why  he  did  it,  only 
he's  so  delicate  and  honorable,  and  goodness  knows 
we  appreciate  it — whether  he  can  tell  you  that — 
that — "  It  was  not  possible  for  such  a  mother  as 
Mrs.  Kenton  to  say  "  He  loves  you  " ;  it  would  have 
sounded,  as  she  would  have  said,  too  sickish,  and 
she  compromised  on :  "  He  likes  you,  and  wants  to 
ask  you  whether  you  will  marry  him.  And,  Ellen," 
she  continued,  in  the  ample  silence  which  followed, 
"if  you  don't  say  you  will,  I  will  have  nothing 


THE   KENTONS  295 

more  to  do  with  such  a  simpleton.  I  have  always 
felt  that  you  behaved  very  foolishly  about  Mr.  Bit- 
tridge,  but  I  hoped  that  when  you  grew  older  you 
would  see  it  as  we  did,  and — and  behave  differently. 
And  now,  if,  after  all  we've  been  through  with  you, 
you  are  going  to  say  that  you  won't  have  Mr. 
Breckon— " 

Mrs.  Kenton  stopped  for  want  of  a  figure  that 
would  convey  all  the  disaster  that  would  fall  upon 
Ellen  in  such  an  event,  and  she  was  given  further 
pause  when  the  girl  gently  answered,  "I'm  not 
going  to  say  that,  momma." 

"  Then  what  in  the  world  are  you  going  to  say  ?" 
Mrs.  Kenton  demanded. 

Ellen  had  turned  her  face  away  on  the  pillow, 
and  now  she  answered,  quietly,  "  When  Mr.  Breckon 
asks  me  I  will  tell  him." 

"Well,  you  had  better!"  her  mother  threatened 
in  return,  and  she  did  not  realize  the  falsity  of 
her  position  till  she  reported  Ellen's  words  to  the 
judge. 

"Well,  Sarah,  I  think  she  had  you  there,"  he 
said,  and  Mrs.  Kenton  then  said  that  she  did  not 
care,  if  the  child  was  only  going  to  behave  sensibly 
at  last,  and  she  did  believe  she  was. 

"Then  it's  all  right,"  said  the  judge,  and  he 
took  up  the  Tuskingum  Intelligencer,  lying  till  then 
unread  in  the  excitements  which  had  followed  its 
arrival  the  day  before,  and  began  to  read  it. 

Mrs.  Kenton  sat  dreamily  watching  him,  with  her 
hands  fallen  in  her  lap.  She  suddenly  started  up, 


296  THE  KENTONS 

with  the  cry,  "Good  gracious!  What  are  we  all 
thinking  of?" 

Kenton  stared  at  her  over  the  top  of  his  paper. 
"How,  thinking  of?" 

"  Why,  Mr.  Breckon !  He  must  be  crazy  to  know 
what  we've  decided,  poor  fellow!" 

"  Oh,"  said  the  judge,  folding  the  Intelligencer 
on  his  knee.  "  I  had  forgotten.  Somehow,  I  thought 
it  was  all  settled." 

Mrs.  Kenton  took  his  paper  from  him,  and  finished 
folding  it.  "It  hasn't  begun  to  be  settled.  You 
must  go  and  let  him  know." 

"  Won't  he  look  me  up  ?"  the  judge  suggested. 

"  You  must  look  him  up.  Go  at  once,  dear ! 
Think  how  anxious  he  must  be!" 

Kenton  was  not  sure  that  Breckon  looked  very 
anxious  when  he  found  him  on  the  brick  prom 
enade  before  the  Kurhaus,  apparently  absorbed  in 
noting  the  convulsions  of  a  large,  round  German 
lady  in  the  water,  who  must  have  supposed  herself  to 
be  bathing.  But  perhaps  the  young  man  did  not 
see  her;  the  smile  on  his  face  was  too  vague  for 
such  an  interest  when  he  turned  at  Kenton's  ap 
proaching  steps. 

The  judge  hesitated  for  an  instant,  in  which 
the  smile  left  Breckon's  face.  "  I  believe  that's  all 
right,  Mr.  Breckon,"  he  said.  "You'll  find  Mrs. 
Kenton  in  our  parlor,"  and  then  the  two  men  part 
ed,  with  an  "Oh,  thank  you!"  from  Breckon,  who 
walked  back  towards  the  hotel,  and  left  Kenton  to 
ponder  upon  the  German  lady;  as  soon  as  he  re- 


THE   KENTONS  297 

alized  that  she  was  not  a  barrel,  the  judge  contin 
ued  his  walk  along  the  promenade,  feeling  rather 
ashamed. 

Mrs.  Kenton  had  gone  to  Ellen's  room  again  when 
she  had  got  the  judge  off  upon  his  mission.  She 
rather  flung  in  upon  her.  "  Oh,  you  are  up !"  she 
apologized  to  Ellen's  back.  The  girl's  face  was 
towards  the  glass,  and  she  was  tilting  her  head 
to  get  the  effect  of  the  hat  on  it,  which  she  now 
took  off. 

"I  suppose  poppa's  gone  to  tell  him,"  she  said, 
sitting  tremulously  down. 

"Didn't  you  want  him  to?"  her  mother  asked, 
stricken  a  little  at  sight  of  her  agitation. 

"  Yes,  I  wanted  him  to,  but  that  doesn't  make  it 
any  easier.  It  makes  it  harder.  Momma!" 

"Well,  Ellen?" 

"  You  know  you've  got  to  tell  him,  first." 

"  Tell  him  ?"  Mrs.  Kenton  repeated,  but  she  knew 
what  Ellen  meant. 

"About  —  Mr.  Bittridge.  All  about  it.  Every 
single  thing.  About  his  kissing  me  that  night." 

At  the  last  demand  Mrs.  Kenton  was  visibly 
shaken  in  her  invisible  assent  to  the  girl's  wish. 
"  Don't  you  think,  Ellen,  that  you  had  better  tell 
him  that — some  time?" 

"  No,  now.  And  you  must  tell  him.  You  let  me 
go  to  the  theatre  with  him."  The  faintest  shadow 
of  resentment  clouded  the  girl's  face,  but  still  Mrs. 
Kenton,  though  she  knew  her  own  guilt,  could  not 
yield. 


298  THE   KENTONS 

"  Why,  Ellen,"  she  pleaded,  not  without  a  re 
proachful  sense  of  vulgarity  in  such  a  plea,  "  don't 
you  suppose  he  ever — kissed  any  one  ?" 

"  That  doesn't  concern  me,  momma,"  said  Ellen, 
without  a  trace  of  consciousness  that  she  was  saying 
anything  uncommon.  "  If  you  won't  tell  him,  then 
that  ends  it.  I  won't  see  him." 

"Oh,  well!"  her  mother  sighed.  "I  will  try  to 
tell  him.  But  I'd  rather  be  whipped.  I  know  he'll 
laugh  at  me." 

"  He  won't  laugh  at  you,"  said  the  girl,  confident 
ly,  almost  comfortingly.  "I  want  him  to  know 
everything  before  I  meet  him.  I  don't  want  to 
have  a  single  thing  on  my  mind.  I  don't  want  to 
think  of  myself!" 

Mrs.  Kenton  understood  the  woman  -  soul  that 
spoke  in  these  words.  "Well,"  she  said,  with  a 
deep,  long  breath,  "be  ready,  then." 

But  she  felt  the  burden  which  had  been  put  upon 
her  to  be  so  much  more  than  she  could  bear  that 
when  she  found  her  husband  in  their  parlor  she 
instantly  resolved  to  cast  it  upon  him.  He  stood 
at  the  window  with  his  hat  on. 

"  Has  Breckon  been  here  yet  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  yet  ?"  she  returned. 

"Yes,  and  I  thought  he  was  coming  right  here. 
But  perhaps  he  stopped  to  screw  his  courage  up. 
If  he  only  knew  how  little  it  needed  with  us!" 

"Well,  now,  it's  we  who've  got  to  have  the 
courage.  Or  you  have.  Do  you  know  what  Ellen 
wants  to  have  done?"  Mrs.  Kenton  put  it  in  these 


THE   KENTONS  299 

impersonal  terms,  and  as  a  preliminary  to  shirking 
her  share  of  the  burden. 

"  She  doesn't  want  to  have  him  refused  ?" 

"  She  wants  to  have  him  told  all  about  Bittridge." 

After  a  momentary  revolt  the  judge  said,  "  Well, 
that's  right,  It's  like  Ellen." 

"  There's  something  else  that's  more  like  her," 
said  Mrs.  Kenton,  indignantly.  "  She  wants  him 
told  about  what  Bittridge  did  that  night— about  his 
kissing  her." 

The  judge  looked  disgusted  with  his  wife  for  the 
word;  then  he  looked  aghast.  "About — " 

"  Yes,  and  she  won't  have  a  word  to  say  to  him 
till  he  is  told,  and  unless  he  is  told  she  will  refuse 
him." 

"Did  she  say  that?" 

"  No,  but  I  know  she  will." 

"If  she  didn't  say  she  would,  I  think  we  may 
take  the  chances  that  she  won't." 

"No,  we  mustn't  take  any  such  chances.  You 
must  tell  him." 

"  I  ?  No,  I  couldn't  manage  it.  I  have  no  tact, 
and  it  would  sound  so  confoundedly  queer,  coming 
from  one  man  to  another.  It  would  be — indelicate. 
It's  something  that  nobody  but  a  woman —  Why 
doesn't  she  tell  him  herself?" 

"  She  won't.  She  considers  it  our  part,  and  some 
thing  we  ought  to  do  before  he  commits  himself." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Sarah,  you  must  tell  him.  You 
can  manage  it  so  it  won't  be  so — queer." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  supposed  you  would  say, 


300  THE  KENTONS 

Mr.  Kenton.  But  I  must  say  I  didn't  expect  it  of 
you.  I  think  it's  cowardly." 

"Look  out,  Sarah!     I  don't  like  that  word." 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  you're  brave  enough  when  it  comes 
to  any  kind  of  danger.  But  when  it  comes  to  tak 
ing  the  brunt  of  anything  unpleasant — " 

"It   isn't  unpleasant — it's  queer." 

"  Why  do  you  keep  saying  that  over  and  over  ? 
There's  nothing  queer  about  it.  It's  Ellenish,  but 
isn't  it  right?" 

"  It's  right,  yes,  I  suppose.    But  it's  squeamish." 

"  I  see  nothing  squeamish  about  it.  But  I  know 
you're  determined  to  leave  it  to  me,  and  so  I  shall 
do  it.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Breckon  will  think  it's 
queer  or  squeamish." 

"  I've  no  doubt  he'll  take  it  in  the  right  way ; 
you'll  know  how  to — "  Kenton  looked  into  his  hat, 
which  he  had  taken  off,  and  then  put  it  on  again. 
His  tone  and  his  manner  were  sufficiently  sneaking, 
and  he  could  not  make  them  otherwise.  It  was  for 
this  reason,  no  doubt,  that  he  would  not  prolong  the 
interview. 

"  Oh  yes,  go !"  said  Mrs.  Kenton,  as  he  found  him 
self  with  his  hand  on  the  door.  "  Leave  it  all  to  me, 
do !"  and  he  was  aware  of  skulking  out  of  the  room. 
By  the  time  that  it  would  have  taken  him  so  long 
as  to  walk  to  the  top  of  the  grand  stairway  he 
was  back  again.  "He's  coming!"  he  said,  breath 
lessly.  "  I  saw  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs. 
Go  into  your  room  and  wash  your  eyes.  I'll  tell 
him." 


THE  KENTONS  301 

"  No,  no,  Euf us !  Let  me !  It  will  be  much  better. 
You'll  be  sure  to  bungle  it." 

"We  must  risk  that.  You  were  quite  right, 
Sarah.  It  would  have  been  cowardly  in  me  to  let 
you  do  it." 

"Kufus!  You  know  I  didn't  mean  it!  Surely 
you're  not  resenting  that?" 

"  No.  I'm  glad  you  made  me  see  it.  You're  all 
right,  Sarah,  and  you'll  find  that  it  will  all  come 
out  all  right.  You  needn't  be  afraid  Til  bungle  it. 
I  shall  use  discretion.  Go — " 

"  I  shall  not  stir  a  step  from  this  parlor !  YouVe 
got  back  all  your  spirit,  dear,"  said  the  old  wife, 
with  young  pride  in  her  husband.  "But  I  must 
say  that  Ellen  is  putting  more  upon  you  than  she 
has  any  right  to.  I  think  she  might  tell  him  her 
self." 

"  No,  it's  our  business — my  business.  We  allowed 
her  to  get  in  for  it.  She's  quite  right  about  it.  We 
must  not  let  him  commit  himself  to  her  till  he 
knows  the  thing  that  most  puts  her  to  shame.  It 
isn't  enough  for  us  to  say  that  it  was  really  no 
shame.  She  feels  that  it  casts  a  sort  of  stain — 
you  know  what  I  mean,  Sarah,  and  I  believe  I  can 
make  this  young  man  know.  If  I  can't,  so  much 
the  worse  for  him.  He  shall  never  see  Ellen  again." 

"Oh,  Rufus!" 

"Do  you  think  he  would  be  worthy  of  her  if  he 
couldn't?" 

"I  think  Ellen  is  perfectly  ridiculous." 

"  Then  that  shows  that  I  am  right  in  deciding 


802  THE   KENTONS 

not  to  leave  this  thing  to  you.  I  feel  as  she  does 
about  it,  and  I  intend  that  he  shall." 

"Do  you  intend  to  let  her  run  the  chance  of 
losing  him?" 

"That  is  what  I  intend  to  do." 

"Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what:  I  am  going  to 
stay  right  here.  We  will  both  see  him;  it's  right 
for  us  to  do  it."  But  at  a  rap  on  the  parlor  door 
Mrs.  Kenton  flew  to  that  of  her  own  room,  which 
she  closed  upon  her  with  a  sort  of  Parthian  whim 
per,  "  Oh,  do  be  careful,  Rufus !" 

Whether  Kenton  was  careful  or  not  could  never 
be  known,  from  either  Kenton  himself  or  from 
Breckon.  The  judge  did  tell  him  everything,  and 
the  young  man  received  the  most  damning  details 
of  Ellen's  history  with  a  radiant  absence  which  tes 
tified  that  they  fell  upon  a  surface  sense  of  Kenton, 
and  did  not  penetrate  to  the  all-pervading  sense  of 
Ellen  herself  below.  At  the  end  Kenton  was  afraid 
he  had  not  understood. 

"You  understand,"  he  said,  "that  she  could  not 
consent  to  see  you  before  you  knew  just  how 
weak  she  thought  she  had  been."  The  judge  stif 
fened  to  defiance  in  making  this  humiliation. 
"I  don't  consider,  myself,  that  she  was  weak  at 
all." 

"  Of  course  not !"  Breckon  beamed  back  at  him. 

"I  consider  that  throughout  she  acted  with  the 
greatest — greatest —  And  that  in  that  affair,  when 
he  behaved  with  that — that  outrageous  impudence, 
it  was  because  she  had  misled  the  scoundrel  by  her 


THE   KENTONS  808 

kindness,  her  forbearance,  her  wish  not  to  do  him 
the  least  shadow  of  injustice,  but  to  give  him  every 
chance  of  proving  himself  worthy  of  her  tolerance; 
and—" 

The  judge  choked,  and  Breckon  eagerly  asked, 
"  And  shall  I — may  I  see  her  now  ?" 

"Why  — yes,'7  the  judge  faltered.  "If  you're 
sure — " 

"What  about?"  Breckon  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  she  will  believe  that  I 
have  told  you." 

"I  will  try  to  convince  her.  Where  shall  I  see 
her?" 

"  I  will  go  and  tell  her  you  are  here.  I  will  bring 
her—" 

Kenton  passed  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 
his  wife  laid  hold  of  him,  almost  violently.  "  You 
did  it  beautifully,  Rufus,"  she  huskily  whispered, 
"  and  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  spoil  everything. 
Oh,  how  manly  you  were,  and  how  perfect  he  was! 
But  now  it's  my  turn,  and  I  will  go  and  bring 
Ellen—  You  will  let  me,  won't  you?" 

"You  may  do  anything  you  please,  Sarah.  / 
don't  want  to  have  any  more  of  this,"  said  the 
judge  from  the  chair  he  had  dropped  into. 

"Well,  then,  I  will  bring  her  at  once,"  said 
Mrs.  Kenton,  staying  only  in  her  gladness  to  kiss 
him  on  his  gray  head;  he  received  her  embrace 
with  a  superficial  sulkiness  which  did  not  deceive 
her. 

Ellen   came   back   without  her   mother,   and   as 


304  THE  KENTONS 

soon  as  she  entered  the  room,  and  Breckon  realized 
that  she  had  come  alone,  he  ran  towards  her  as  if 
to  take  her  in  his  arms.  But  she  put  up  her  hand 
with  extended  fingers,  and  held  him  lightly  off. 

"Did  poppa  tell  you?"  she  asked,  with  a  certain 
defiance.  She  held  her  head  up  fiercely,  and  spoke 
steadily,  but  he  could  see  the  pulse  beating  in  her 
pretty  neck. 

"Yes,  he  told  me—" 

"And— well?" 

"  Oh,  I  love  you,  Ellen—" 

"  That  isn't  it.    Did  you  care?" 

Breckon  had  an  inspiration,  an  inspiration  from 
the  truth  that  dwelt  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  and 
had  never  yet  failed  to  save  him.  He  let  his  arms 
fall,  and  answered,  desperately:  "Yes,  I  did.  I 
wished  it  hadn't  happened."  He  saw  the  pulse  in 
her  neck  cease  to  beat,  and  he  swiftly  added,  "  But 
I  know  that  it  happened  just  because  you  were 
yourself,  and  were  so — " 

"  If  you  had  said  you  didn't  care,"  she  breathless 
ly  whispered,  "  I  would  never  have  spoken  to  you." 
He  felt  a  conditional  tremor  creeping  into  the 
fingers  which  had  been  so  rigid  against  his  breast. 
"  I  don't  see  how  I  lived  through  it !  Do  you  think 
you  can?" 

"  I  think  so,"  he  returned,  with  a  faint,  far  sug 
gestion  of  levity  that  brought  from  her  an  impera 
tive,  imploring — 

"Don't!" 

Then  he  added,  solemnly,  "It  had  no  more  to 


THE  KENTONS  305 

do  with  you,  Ellen,  than  an  offence  from  some  hate 
ful  animal — " 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are !"  The  fingers  folded  them 
selves,  and  her  arms  weakened  so  that  there  was 
nothing  to  keep  him  from  drawing  her  to  him. 
"What — what  are  you  doing?"  she  asked,  with 
her  face  smothered  against  his. 

"  Oh,  Ellen,  Ellen,  Ellen!  Oh,  my  love,  my  dear 
est,  my  best!" 

"But  I  have  been  such  a  fool!"  she  protested, 
imagining  that  she  was  going  to  push  him  from  her, 
but  losing  herself  in  him  more  and  more. 

"Yes,  yes,  darling!  I  know  it.  That's  why  I 
love  you  so  1" 

•     20 


XXVI 

"THERE  is  just  one  thing,"  said  the  judge,  as 
he  wound  up  his  watch  that  night,  "  that  makes  me 
a  little  uneasy  still." 

Mrs.  Kenton,  already  in  her  bed,  turned  her  face 
upon  him  with  a  despairing  "  Tchk !  Dear !  What 
is  it?  I  thought  we  had  talked  over  everything." 

"We  haven't  got  Lottie's  consent  yet." 

"Well,  I  think  I  see  myself  asking  Lottie!"  Mrs. 
Kenton  began,  before  she  realized  her  husband's 
irony.  She  added,  "How  could  you  give  me  such 
a  start?" 

"  Well,  Lottie  has  bossed  us  so  long  that  I  couldn't 
help  mentioning  it,"  said  the  judge. 

It  was  a  lame  excuse,  and  in  its  most  potential 
implication  his  suggestion  proved  without  reason. 
If  Lottie  never  gave  her  explicit  approval  to  Ellen's 
engagement,  she  never  openly  opposed  it.  She  treat 
ed  it,  rather,  with  something  like  silent  contempt, 
as  a  childish  weakness  on  Ellen's  part  which  was 
beneath  her  serious  consideration.  Towards  Breckon 
her  behavior  hardly  changed  in  the  severity  which 
she  had  assumed  from  the  moment  she  first  ceased 
to  have  any  use  for  him.  "I  suppose  I  will  have 
to  kiss  him,"  she  said,  gloomily,  when  her  mother 


THE  KENTONS  30? 

told  her  that  he  was  to  be  her  brother,  and  she 
performed  the  rite  with  as  much  coldness  as  was 
ever  put  in  that  form  of  affectionate  welcome.  It 
is  doubtful  if  Breckon  perfectly  realized  its  cold 
ness;  he  never  knew  how  much  he  enraged  her  by 
acting  as  if  she  were  a  little  girl,  and  saying  lightly, 
almost  trivially,  "  I'm  so  glad  you're  going  to  be  a 
sister  to  me." 

With  Ellen,  Lottie  now  considered  herself  quits, 
and  from  the  first  hour  of  Ellen's  happiness  she 
threw  off  all  the  care  with  all  the  apparent  kindness 
which  she  had  used  towards  her  when  she  was  a 
morbid  invalid.  Here  again,  if  Lottie  had  minded 
such  a  thing,  she  might  have  been  as  much  vexed 
by  Ellen's  attitude  as  by  Breckon's.  Ellen  never 
once  noticed  the  withdrawal  of  her  anxious  over 
sight,  or  seemed  in  the  least  to  miss  it.  As  much 
as  her  meek  nature  would  allow,  she  arrogated  to 
herself  the  privileges  and  prerogatives  of  an  elder 
sister,  and  if  it  had  been  possible  to  make  Lottie 
ever  feel  like  a  chit,  there  were  moments  when 
Ellen's  behavior  would  have  made  her  feel  like  a 
chit.  It  was  not  till  after  their  return  to  Tuskin- 
gum  that  Lottie  took  her  true  place  in  relation  to 
the  affair,  and  in  the  preparations  for  the  wedding, 
which  she  appointed  to  be  in  the  First  Universalist 
Church,  overruling  both  her  mother's  and  sister's 
preferences  for  a  home  wedding,  that  Lottie  rose 
in  due  authority.  Mrs.  Kenton  had  not  ceased  to 
feel  quelled  whenever  her  younger  daughter  called 
her  mother  instead  of  momma,  and  Ellen  seemed 


308  THE   KENTOXS 

not  really  to  care.  She  submitted  the  matter  to 
Breckon,  who  said,  "  Oh  yes,  if  Lottie  wishes,"  and 
he  laughed  when  Ellen  confessed,  "Well,  I  said 
we  would." 

With  the  lifting  of  his  great  anxiety,  he  had  got 
back  to  that  lightness  which  was  most  like  him,  and 
he  could  not  always  conceal  from  Lottie  herself 
that  he  regarded  her  as  a  joke.  She  did  not  mind 
it,  she  said,  from  such  a  mere  sop  as,  in  the  vast 
content  of  his  love,  he  was. 

This  was  some  months  after  Lottie  had  got  at 
Scheveningen  from  Mr.  Plumpton  that  letter  which 
decided  her  that  she  had  no  use  for  him.  There 
came  the  same  day,  and  by  the  same  post  with  it, 
a  letter  from  one  of  her  young  men  in  Tuskingum, 
who  had  faithfully  written  to  her  all  the  winter 
before,  and  had  not  intermitted  his  letters  after 
she  went  abroad.  To  Kenton  he  had  always  seemed 
too  wise  if  not  too  good  for  Lottie,  but  Mrs.  Kenton, 
who  had  her  own  doubts  of  Lottie,  would  not  allow 
this  when  it  came  to  the  question,  and  said,  wound- 
edly,  that  she  did  not  see  why  Lottie  was  not  fully 
his  equal  in  every  way. 

"Well,"  the  judge  suggested,  "she  isn't  the  first 
young  lawyer  at  the  Tuskingum  bar." 

"  Well,  I  wouldn't  wish  her  to  be,"  said  Mrs.  Ken- 
ton,  who  did  not  often  make  jokes. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  I  would,"  her  husband 
assented,  and  he  added,  "Pretty  good,  Sarah." 

"  Lottie,"  her  mother  summed  up,  "  is  practical. 
And  she  is  very  neat.  She  won't  let  Mr.  Elroy  go 


THE   KENTONS  309 

around  looking  so  slovenly.  I  hope  she  will  make 
him  have  his  hair  cut,  and  not  look  as  if  it  were 
bitten  off.  And  I  don't  believe  he's  had  his  boots 
blacked  since — " 

"He  was  born,"  the  judge  proposed,  and  she  as 
sented. 

"  Yes.  She  is  very  saving,  and  he  is  wasteful. 
It  will  be  a  very  good  match.  You  can  let  them 
build  on  the  other  corner  of  the  lot,  if  Ellen  is 
going  to  be  in  New  York.  I  would  miss  Lottie  more 
than  Ellen  about  the  housekeeping,  though  the  dear 
knows  I  will  miss  them  both  badly  enough." 

"Well,  you  can  break  off  their  engagements," 
said  the  judge. 

As  yet,  and  until  Ellen  was  off  her  hands,  Lottie 
would  not  allow  Mr.  Elroy  to  consider  himself 
engaged  to  her.  His  conditional  relation  did  not 
debar  him  from  a  lover's  rights,  and,  until  Breckon 
came  on  from  New  York  to  be  married,  there  was 
much  more  courtship  of  Lottie  than  of  Ellen  in 
the  house.  But  Lottie  saved  herself  in  the  form 
if  not  the  fact,  and  as  far  as  verbal  terms  were 
concerned,  she  was  justified  by  them  in  declaring 
that  she  would  not  have  another  sop  hanging 
round. 

It  was  Boyne,  and  Boyne  alone,  who  had  any 
misgivings  in  regard  to  Ellen's  engagement,  and 
these  were  of  a  nature  so  recondite  that  when  he 
came  to  impart  them  to  his  mother,  before  they  left 
Scheveningen,  and  while  there  was  yet  time  for 
that  conclusion  which  his  father  suggested  to  Mrs. 


310  THE   KENTONS 

Kenton  too  late,  Boyne  had  an  almost  hopeless 
difficulty  in  stating  them.  His  approaches,  even, 
were  so  mystical  that  his  mother  was  forced  to 
bring  him  to  book  sharply. 

"  Boyne,  if  you  don't  tell  me  right  off  just  what 
you  mean,  I  don't  know  what  I  will  do  to  you! 
What  are  you  driving  at,  for  pity's  sake?  Are  you 
saying  that  she  oughtn't  to  be  engaged  to  Mr« 
Breckon?" 

"  No,  I'm  not  saying  that,  momma,"  said  Boyne, 
in  a  distress  that  caused  his  mother  to  take  a  reef 
in  her  impatience. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  saying,  then  ?" 

"Why,  you  know  how  Ellen  is,  momma.  You 
know  how  conscientious  and — and — sensitive.  Or, 
I  don't  mean  sensitive,  exactly." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  she  ought  to  be  engaged 
to  Mr.  Breckon  out  of — gratitude." 

"Gratitude?" 

"Yes.  I  just  know  that  she  thinks — or  it  would 
be  just  like  her — that  he  saved  me  that  day.  But 
he  only  met  me  about  a  second  before  we  came  to 
her  and  poppa,  and  the  officers  were  taking  me  right 
along  towards  them."  Mrs.  Kenton  held  herself 
stormily  in,  and  he  continued:  "I  know  that  he 
translated  for  us  before  the  magistrate,  but  the 
magistrate  could  speak  a  little  English,  and  when 
he  saw  poppa  he  saw  that  it  was  all  right,  any 
way.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  against  Mr. 
Breckon,  and  I  think  he  behaved  as  well  as  any  one 


THE   KENTONS  311 

could;  but  if  Ellen  is  going  to  marry  him  out  of 
gratitude  for  saving  me — " 

Mrs.  Kenton  could  hold  in  no  longer.  "  And  is 
this  what  you've  been  bothering  the  life  half  out 
of  me  for,  for  the  last  hour  ?" 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  ought  to  look  at  it  in  that 
light,  momma." 

"Well,  Boyne,"  said  his  mother,  "sometimes  I 
think  you're  almost  a  fool!"  and  she  turned  her 
back  upon  her  son  and  left  him. 

Boyne's  place  in  the  Kenton  family,  for  which 
he  continued  to  have  the  highest  regard,  became  a 
little  less  difficult,  a  little  less  incompatible  with  his 
self-respect  as  time  went  on.  His  spirit,  which  had 
lagged  a  little  after  his  body  in  stature,  began,  as 
his  father  said,  to  catch  up.  He  no  longer  nourish 
ed  it  so  exclusively  upon  heroical  romance  as  he 
had  during  the  past  year,  and  after  his  return 
to  Tuskingum  he  went  into  his  brother  Richard's 
office,  and  manifested  a  certain  curiosity  in  the 
study  of  the  law.  He  read  Blackstone,  and  could 
give  a  fair  account  of  his  impressions  of  English 
law  to  his  father.  He  had  quite  outlived  the  period 
of  entomological  research,  and  he  presented  his  col 
lections  of  insects  (somewhat  moth-eaten)  to  his 
nephew,  on  whom  he  also  bestowed  his  postage- 
stamp  album ;  Mary  Kenton  accepted  them  in  trust, 
the  nephew  being  of  yet  too  tender  years  for  their 
care.  In  the  preoccupations  of  his  immediate  fam 
ily  with  Ellen's  engagement,  Boyne  became  rather 
close  friends  with  his  sister-in-law,  and  there  were 


312  THE   KENTONS 

times  when  he  was  tempted  to  submit  to  her  judg 
ment  the  question  whether  the  young  Queen  of  Hol 
land  did  not  really  beckon  to  him  that  day.  But 
pending  the  hour  when  he  foresaw  that  Lottie  should 
come  out  with  the  whole  story,  in  some  instant  of 
excitement,  Boyne  had  not  quite  the  heart  to  speak 
of  his  experience.  It  assumed  more  and  more  re 
spectability  with  him,  and  lost  that  squalor  which 
had  once  put  him  to  shame  while  it  was  yet  new. 
He  thought  that  Mary  might  be  reasoned  into  re 
garding  him  as  the  hero  of  an  adventure,  but  he 
is  still  hesitating  whether  to  confide  in  her.  In 
the  meantime  she  knows  all  about  it.  Mary  and 
Eichard  both  approve  of  Ellen's  choice,  though 
they  are  somewhat  puzzled  to  make  out  just  what 
Mr.  Breckon's  religion  is,  and  what  his  relations 
to  his  charge  in  New  York  may  be.  These  do  not 
seem  to  them  quite  pastoral,  and  he  himself  shares 
their  uncertainty.  But  since  his  flock  does  not  in 
clude  Mrs.  Rasmith  and  her  daughter,  he  is  con 
tent  to  let  the  question  remain  in  abeyance.  The 
Rasmiths  are  settled  in  Rome  with  an  apparent 
permanency  which  they  have  not  known  elsewhere 
for  a  long  time,  and  they  have  both  joined  in  the 
friendliest  kind  of  letter  on  his  marriage  to  their 
former  pastor,  if  that  was  what  Breckon  was.  They 
have  professed  to  know  from  the  first  that  he  was 
in  love  with  Ellen,  and  that  he  is  in  love  with  her 
now  is  the  strong  present  belief  of  his  flock,  if  they 
are  a  flock,  and  if  they  may  be  said  to  have  anything 
so  positive  as  a  belief  in  regard  to  anything. 


THE   KENTONS  313 

Judge  Kenton  has  given  the  Elroys  the  other 
corner  of  the  lot,  and  has  supplied  them  the  means 
of  building  on  it.  Mary  and  Lottie  run  diagonally 
into  the  home-house  every  day,  and  nothing  keeps 
either  from  coming  into  authority  over  the  old 
people  except  the  fear  of  each  other  in  which  they 
stand.  The  Kentons  no  longer  make  any  summer 
journeys,  but  in  the  winter  they  take  Boyne  and 
go  to  see  Ellen  in  New  York.  They  do  not  stay 
so  long  as  Mrs.  Kenton  would  like.  As  soon  as 
they  have  fairly  seen  the  Breckons,  and  have  settled 
comfortably  down  in  their  pleasant  house  on  West 
Seventy-fourth  Street,  she  detects  him  in  a  secret 
habit  of  sighing,  which  she  recognizes  as  the  worst 
symptom  of  homesickness,  and  then  she  confides 
to  Ellen  that  she  supposes  Mr.  Kenton  will  make 
her  go  home  with  him  before  long.  Ellen  knows 
it  is  useless  to  interfere.  She  even  encourages  her 
father's  longings,  so  far  as  indulging  his  clandestine 
visits  to  the  seedsman's,  and  she  goes  with  him 
to  pick  up  second-hand  books  about  Ohio  in  the 
War  at  the  dealers7,  who  remember  the  judge  very 
flatteringly. 

As  February  draws  on  towards  March  it  becomes 
impossible  to  detain  Kenton.  His  wife  and  son 
return  with  him  to  Tuskingum,  where  Lottie  has 
seen  to  the  kindling  of  a  good  fire  in  the  furnace 
against  their  arrival,  and  has  nearly  come  to  blows 
with  Mary  about  provisioning  them  for  the  first 
dinner.  Then  Mrs.  Kenton  owns,  with  a  comfort 
which  she  will  not  let  her  husband  see,  that  there 


314  THE   KENTONS 

is  no  place  like  home,  and  they  take  up  their  life 
in  the  place  where  they  have  been  so  happy  and  so 
unhappy.  He  reads  to  her  a  good  deal  at  night, 
and  they  play  a  game  of  checkers  usually  before 
they  go  to  bed;  she  still  cheats  without  scruple,  for, 
as  she  justly  says,  he  knows  very  well  that  she 
cannot  bear  to  be  beaten. 

The  colonel,  as  he  is  still  invariably  known  to 
his  veterans,  works  pretty  faithfully  at  the  regi 
mental  autobiography,  and  drives  round  the  country, 
picking  up  material  among  them,  in  a  buggy  plas 
tered  with  mud.  He  has  imagined,  since  his  last 
visit  to  Breckon,  who  dictates  his  sermons,  if  they 
are  sermons,  taking  a  stenographer  with  him,  and 
the  young  lady,  who  is  in  deadly  terror  of  the 
colonel's  driving,  is  of  the  greatest  use  to  him,  in 
the  case  of  veterans  who  will  not  or  cannot  give 
down  (as  they  say  in  their  dairy-country  parlance), 
and  has  already  rescued  many  reminiscences  from 
perishing  in  their  faltering  memories.  She  writes 
them  out  in  the  judge's  library  when  the  colonel 
gets  home,  and  his  wife  sometimes  surprises  Mr. 
Kenton  correcting  them  there  at  night  after  she 
supposes  he  has  gone  to  bed. 

Since  it  has  all  turned  out  for  the  best  concern 
ing  Bittridge,  she  no  longer  has  those  pangs  of  self- 
reproach  for  Richard's  treatment  of  him  which 
she  suffered  while  afraid  that  if  the  fact  came  to 
Ellen's  knowledge  it  might  make  her  refuse  Breck 
on.  She  does  not  find  her  daughter's  behavior  in 
the  matter  so  anomalous  as  it  appears  to  the  judge. 


THE   KENTONS  315 

He  is  willing  to  account  for  it  on  the  ground  of 
that  inconsistency  which  he  has  observed  in  all  hu 
man  behavior,  but  Mrs.  Kenton  is  not  inclined  to 
admit  that  it  is  so  very  inconsistent.  She  contends 
that  Ellen  had  simply  lived  through  that  hateful 
episode  of  her  psychological  history,  as  she  was  sure 
to  do  sooner  or  later,  and  as  she  was  destined  to  do 
as  soon  as  some  other  person  arrived  to  take  her 
fancy. 

If  this  is  the  crude,  common-sense  view  of  the 
matter,  Ellen  herself  is  able  to  offer  no  finer  explana 
tion,  which  shall  at  the  same  time  be  more  thorough. 
She  and  her  husband  have  not  failed  to  talk  the 
affair  over,  with  that  fulness  of  treatment  which 
young  married  people  give  their  past  when  they 
have  nothing  to  conceal  from  each  other.  She  has 
attempted  to  solve  the  mystery  by  blaming  herself 
for  a  certain  essential  levity  of  nature  which,  under 
all  her  appearance  of  gravity,  sympathized  with 
levity  in  others,  and,  for  what  she  knows  to  the  con 
trary,  with  something  ignoble  and  unworthy  in 
them.  Breckon,  of  course,  does  not  admit  this,  but 
he  has  suggested  that  she  was  first  attracted  to  him 
by  a  certain  unseriousness  which  reminded  her  of 
Bittridge,  in  enabling  him  to  take  her  seriousness 
lightly.  This  is  the  logical  inference  which  he 
makes  from  her  theory  of  herself,  but  she  insists 
that  it  does  not  follow;  and  she  contends  that  she 
was  moved  to  love  him  by  an  instant  sense  of  his 
goodness,  which  she  never  lost,  and  in  which  she 
was  trying  to  equal  herself  with  him  by  even  the 


316  THE   KENTONS 

desperate  measure  of  renouncing  her  happiness,  if 
that  should  ever  seem  her  duty,  to  his  perfection. 
He  says  this  is  not  very  clear,  though  it  is  awfully 
gratifying,  and  he  does  not  quite  understand  why 
Mrs.  Bittridge's  letter  should  have  liberated  Ellen 
from  her  fancied  obligations  to  the  past.  Ellen  can 
only  say  that  it  did  so  by  making  her  so  ashamed 
ever  to  have  had  anything  to  do  with  such  people, 
and  making  her  see  how  much  she  had  tried  her 
father  and  mother  by  her  folly.  This  again  Breckon 
contends  is  not  clear,  but  he  says  we  live  in  a  uni 
verse  of  problems  in  which  another,  more  or  less, 
does  not  much  matter.  He  is  always  expecting  that 
some  chance  shall  confront  him  with  Bittridge, 
and  that  the  man's  presence  will  explain  everything; 
for,  like  so  many  Ohio  people  who  leave  their  na 
tive  State,  the  Bittridges  have  come  East  instead 
of  going  West,  in  quitting  the  neighborhood  of  Tus- 
kingum.  He  is  settled  with  his  idolized  mother 
in  New  York,  where  he  is  obscurely  attached  to  one 
of  the  newspapers.  That  he  has  as  yet  failed  to  rise 
from  the  ranks  in  the  great  army  of  assignment 
men  may  be  because  moral  quality  tells  everywhere, 
and  to  be  a  clever  blackguard  is  not  so  well  as 
to  be  simply  clever.  If  ever  Breckon  has  met  his 
alter  ego,  as  he  amuses  himself  in  calling  him,  he 
has  not  known  it,  though  Bittridge  may  have  been 
wiser  in  the  case  of  a  man  of  Breckon's  publicity, 
not  to  call  it  distinction.  There  was  a  time,  im 
mediately  after  the  Breckons  heard  from  Tuskin- 
gum  that  the  Bittridges  were  in  New  York,  when 


THE  KENTONS  317 

Ellen's  husband  consulted  her  as  to  what  might  be 
his  duty  towards  her  late  suitor  in  the  event  which 
has  not  taken  place,  and  when  he  suggested,  not  too 
seriously,  that  Kichard's  course  might  be  the  solu 
tion.  To  his  suggestion  Ellen  answered :  "  Oh  no, 
dear!  That  was  wrong,"  and  this  remains  also 
Richard's  opinion. 


THE  END 


ROWED 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


